In the Quiet of Days
by Chibi McFu
Summary: When Zack comes home, his sister Tifa knows that everything is changing, and they do when he introduces her to Cloud. But when the prejudices and injustice of Gongaga flair up, Tifa knows she must do what is right in her heart. AU
1. One

**Chibi: I am in the process of a bit of an overhaul on this story. I'm not making any major changes, just editing some of the wording to make it flow a bit more nicely and make it all fit better with the ending. This is still my first FFVII fanfiction! I refer to this in my head as my Magnum Opus. The story was previously known as **_**I Kissed the Rain**_** – my reason for changing the title was now that I have reached the final chapters, this one (**_**In the Quiet of Days**_**) just fit a lot better. Hopefully no one will be too confused.**

**Reviews mean a lot to me, so I would greatly appreciate it if you could just drop me one to let me know what you though.**

**Thank you!**

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_In the Quiet of Days_

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**One**

It was Zack's idea for me to write it all down. Everything – all the stuff that happened that summer with him, Cloud, Yuffie, me and Kadaj. "It's not going to make you feel any better," he told me. "It'll probably make you feel worse for a while. But it will help you. You've been through so much, you can't keep it all stuck inside of you." When he said this he took my hand. "There's stuff … stuff that I want to know. Stuff I know that you can't tell me. I'll respect some of your privacy … but the stuff with Kadaj? I need to know about that. For your own sake. You need to just …"

"Let it all out?" He nodded hard. I know he's right. I need to remember the stuff that happened … not just for me, but for his sake. Kadaj. So here I am. Sat at my desk, trying to get this all down. Because I know that Zack is right. I need to get it all out for my own sake. Otherwise … I'm lost.

It only happened a year ago, my fifteenth summer, but it feels as though it happened a long, long time ago. I've been thinking about that summer for so long, for an entire year, that the thought it was only one year, a single year, three hundred and sixty five days … it seems impossible. The events that took place that summer helped me grow up – I was so naïve back then, a young girl of fifteen who just liked to stare at the sky, and hang out with her older brother. I feel so much older than just sixteen, I feel as though the past year made me age a decade or so. I guess that's because, like they say, so much stuff shouldn't happen to someone so young. I'm not the only one who was so affected, though … Zack, Dad, Cloud … Dad's moving on slowly, but at least he's managing it. And Zack … I cannot believe how well he's doing. If I were him, I would have locked myself away from the world, curled in a little ball and died. I almost did. But Zack … it's not in his nature. He grieved. Of course he grieved, it would be unnatural not to. But then, when he had cried his sadness away, he got up and got on with his life. I guess the reason I'm writing this down is so that I can do the same. I'm not as easy as Zack – I hurt too easily. At least I used to. Zack is strong…so strong. I would always wish I could be as strong as him. I guess I still do.

I first heard about Cloud by the village rumours. There's some in every village you go to. The one going around Gongaga when my father and I returned from a rare holiday in Costa del Sol at the start of that summer was that old man Strife, who lived halfway up the hill that Gongaga stood in the shadow of, had a guest for the summer. A boy. His son. The boy's mother was what people would call an _Earth Child_, and she had given her son some weird name … Bird, or Sky or something. A kid from Nibelheim. I didn't really think anything of it, there's plenty of weird people in our village. I ignored the stupid rumour. It probably meant nothing.

We'd had a bit of a fright when we'd returned from Costa del Sol, Dad and I. We'd just pulled up in our car, on returning from the airport, only to find a strange motorbike in the yard. The front door was open. We both believed that there was a burglar in the house, and so we'd shakily crossed the yard, and slowly entered the house. I let Dad go in first, seeings as he was a man, and could maybe, somehow protect me if needs be. He'd slowly climbed the stairs in the front hall, after checking the lounge for intruders. I watched him climb the stairs cautiously, and I then slowly edged towards the kitchen. The door to this room was closed, but I wasn't sure if that was because the intruder was in there, or if they simply hadn't gone in there yet. I reached the door, my heart hammering. What if someone _was_in there? What if pulled open the door, and came face to face with a gun? What if I was killed? And if there was no one down here, was Dad okay? Was the burglar upstairs, waiting, a knife, or a gun, or any weapon in hand, ready to pounce on and kill the first person they saw? I swallowed, gripped the door handle with my sweaty hands, and slowly pushed open the door. I opened it a fraction of an inch, my fingers curling around the side as I peered through the crack. No one there. I breathed a sigh of relief. God, how stupid could I get? Thinking there was someone there … _as if_ … I swung open the door, feeling a bit more relaxed, and then my heart leapt. There _was_ someone there. Two someones, in fact, sat at the kitchen table. I opened my mouth and screamed, causing the two people sat there to look up in fright.

"Tifa?" I heard Dad yell. I heard him thundering down the stairs, still calling: "Tifa, what is it?" I kept screaming, I couldn't stop it, and when one of the intruders leapt up, coming towards me and trying to wrap me up in their arms I screamed even more, struggling and trying to push them away. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the blow that I knew was going to come when the intruder tried to shut me up … and then there was laughter. I stopped screaming, my arms up in front of my face and my eyes still squeezed shut. I listened hard. The laughter wasn't coming from the chest in my face … but from Dad.

"Jesus Christ, Zack. You know how to give a scare, don't you?" Zack? What the-?

I opened my eyes, keeping my arms up in front of my face just in case I was wrong. I was met with a chest right in front of me, so I looked upwards, towards the man's face … and a familiar face it was. Bright blue eyes, eyes that were so bright that they seemed to glow, smiled down at me, accompanied by a wide grin. It was Zack. My brother. I breathed out deeply, pulling my arms down from my face.

"Shit, Zack." I shook my head. "You're such an ass!"

Apparently, my brother was back from university in Midgar.

"Don't you be starting with that Shit Zack stuff again, that's not my name! I'm gonna start taking offence if you're not careful." Yes, it was definitely my brother. I hugged him tightly, not struggling away from him this time, breathing in his familiar scent. It was good to have him back, but he was kind of early …

"Hey," I said suddenly, pulling away. "Why are you home so early? I thought you were staying in Midgar until the middle of August? It's only the second today."

"Ah, well…" he stepped back. There was a tiny grin on his face, one that I recognised. He was unsure, but what of I wasn't sure. As he stood back, though, I noticed the other person sat at the table. She wasn't someone that I recognised. But she was beautiful, probably the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had this perfect, peachy coloured skin, and these soft green eyes that I felt I could get lost in. Her hair… god, I wanted hair like that. I knew that I was pretty lucky, with my dark brown, almost black, long poker straight hair, but hers was beautiful. It was brown too, but a softer sort of brown than mine. It was pulled back into a plait, with a pink ribbon tied in it, and she had soft bangs that fell down into her eyes. She was … incredible. Without a doubt the prettiest girl I had ever seen. She smiled at me - a pretty, almost dainty smile. She looked like an angel. Or whatever angels were supposed to look like …

"This," Zack's voice dragged me out of my little dream world, and I watched him step backwards again, until he was behind the girl, placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her forwards slightly. "This is Aerith."

"Hello," she murmured softly. I wondered briefly how nervous she was, meeting some strange people, one who had screamed her head off on first sight and the other who thought she had broken into his house. But if she was nervous, she certainly didn't show it. She just smiled wanly, holding a hand out to me to shake. "You must be Tifa. Zack's told me a lot about you …"

Her voice was low, but just loud enough so that you could catch it, and she spoke with a gentle softness. Her voice was sweet, but not sickly - just nice and calmly. She was confident, but not in an overpowering way.

"You didn't answer her question," Dad reminded Zack. I swear, for the first time ever, I actually saw Zack _blush_. His face coloured, but, as quickly as it had appeared, the blush disappeared, replaced with his lightly tanned skin. He gave his unsure, uneasy smile again.

"Well, I … I dropped out."

To be honest, I wasn't particularly shocked by this verdict. Zack hadn't been too eager to go to university, but my father had pushed him. He wanted a brain in the family, someone to be proud of. I knew he wanted me to go too, and no doubt he'd push me into going. Zack was clever – straight As at GCSE, and four A's at A Level. But that wasn't enough for Dad; he wanted his son to be a doctor. Someone who could set himself up for life, with a degree and a Masters … sometimes, back then, I would wonder if anything was good enough for my father. I knew that I would be pushed to go, to be a nurse or a high flying business woman. He wanted great things out of his children. Back then I was happy to stay in Gongaga … or there abouts. I wouldn't have minded stretching my wings, but I was a country girl at heart. Just as I knew Zack was.

My father didn't seem to be taking the news very well. He was breathing heavily, and I couldn't help but be reminded of the miniature bottles of whiskey that had stood on his flight tray on the aeroplane. Dad had always been a heavy drinker…even more so after Mum died. I never liked to ask him not to drive after he'd had a drink – felt that I _couldn't_, it wasn't my right. His face was slowly growing redder, as though he was sat too close to a fire or something. Zack sensed that Dad wasn't particularly happy (or sober), and he stood back, his face set. He pushed Aerith down into one of the kitchen chairs, and waited for the explosion.

I love my Dad. He means everything to me. My world, my happiness, my father … I'd never asked though if, during the accident, the one thing I really felt I needed to know. They'd been at an awards ceremony for his first book. Dad had been drinking so my mother was driving, but I had never had the guts to ask if she had been drinking too. She liked a drink as much as he did. They skidded off the road, I guess they'd hit a bend to quickly or there was black ice, no one is sure, and the car careered down a bank. Mum died instantly. Dad wasn't in brilliant shape, but he was alright. Physically, at least. After the funeral, an event I can only vaguely remember, he turned to his good friend whiskey more and more for help. And because of this … he had moments. Moments when, if he was angered and he'd had a drink or too, he scared me. I love him, but he scared me. He'd never hit me, never, but I remember in our youth, when he was old enough to answer back, that Zack came out of one or two of these moments with bruises.

"Teef," Zack murmured. "Can you show Aerith the guest bedroom please?" I nodded. I wanted to get out of there sharpish, and, well, Zack was old enough to fight his own battles. So I grabbed Aerith's wrist, and kind of dragged her out of the room, pulling her out into the hall and gently closing the door behind me. We were halfway up the stairs when the shouting started. Aerith looked at me with a kind of startled look on her face, and I can't say I blamed her. I vaguely heard the words "Do you know how much I was bloody _paying_for you to have a _future_?" being thrown about. I just hoped that Zack was going to be alright.

I pulled Aerith up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. Our guest bedroom used to be a nursery, so it still had pale yellow walls with a border of little ducks travelling just below where the wall meets the ceiling. The cots and toddler sofa and toys had by then been taken out of the room, and replaced with a double bed and wardrobe, so our guests stay in our old nursery now. When Zack and I were little, and this room had been our playroom, we used to play the 'Ducky Game', which involved us flapping our arms about like loons, trying to fly as high as the ducks. But we had since grown up.

"Um ... Tifa?"

I'd drifted off. Aerith was looking at me, her face slightly coloured (was she _blushing_?), her hands clutching her oversized holdall. She was just kind of stood in the middle of the room, looking around slightly embarrassed.

"Where should I put my … uh … stuff?"

"Oh! Sorry, just put it all in the wardrobe." She put her bag on the bed, and then it was a kind of awkward moment, both of us just stood there, nothing to say and not sure what to look at. So I kind of rubbed the back of my neck, and murmured: "I'll leave you to it, then."

"Right … okay." I left the room, shutting the door gently behind me. Wow. Zack had … a girlfriend. A proper, beautiful girlfriend. Good. Good for him. Good for … him. Good for me? I guess I was happy for him; he clearly liked her enough to bring her home and meet his family. And she was lovely, and obviously made him happy. And that made me happy. Right? I was happy. Was I? I didn't feel particularly happy. I had put it down to Dad being all scary, and the fright Zack had given me earlier. But … my stomach wasn't very controlled. It was swirling about, churning, making me want to be sick. I had to go and sit down in my room, sinking slowly onto the bed, trying to take it all in. I had never really felt like this before. Was it … jealousy? Was I jealous of Aerith? I was kind of envious, I guess. Angry. He wouldn't just be MY brother anymore. He belonged to someone else. Someone who loved him, and he loved her back … I had to let him be happy. Even if it meant not being as close to him. But we were only brother and sister, so … they were gonna be happy together. I guess … without me …

I sighed, and fell backwards so I was lying down on the bed. Zack had only been back for like five minutes and everything was going WRONG. Wrong wrong wrong. There was a slam from downstairs, the kitchen door I assumed, and there was a thundering up the stairs. My bedroom door went flying open, and Zack was stood there, his hair all mussed from where he'd been running his fingers through it and his face red. He was breathing heavily, still holding the door with one hand and clutching the door frame in the other. To be honest, he looked like a madman.

"Hey," he breathed, panting.

"Hey," I replied, sitting up.

"Get your running stuff on then." I nodded, and watched him leave. I guessed he was going to his room, to get his stuff on. I got up, and began rummaging around for my running clothes. It's a sort of habit, Zack and I like running together. It's kind of calming, just running up the mountain, and then stopping for a drink at the top, taking in the view. So it was really nice, ten minutes later, to be jogging alongside my brother, listening to our feet crunching on the gravel on the path through the village. I didn't mind that Aerith was gliding along on my bike next to us (she didn't seem like the running type, and I'd surprised myself by offering her the bike. I didn't really want to leave her alone in the house whilst Dad was in such a bad mood, and it was kind of rude to leave her out. There'd be plenty of time for brother/sister bonding later, seeings as Zack was seemingly here to stay) and I was happy to be heading up the mountain again. The mountain overlooked Gongaga, and we'd always run up it together, Zack and I. It was a nice view. Lots of stuff had happened up there too – it was up there that Zack had broken his arm by falling into the stream when he was nine, and it was up there that I had told him my secret that I was certain that there was a ghost living in the back of my wardrobe. It was also up there that we'd seen the police car driving towards our house, and a policeman getting out of the car with a grim look on his face. He looked so grim because he had come to bear the news, early on that Sunday morning five years ago when my brother and I had decided to take an early morning run, that our mother was dead, and our father seriously injured.

Yeah, we'd had lots of memories up on that hill.

We'd reached the base of the mountain now, and Aerith had slid off of the bike and had begun pushing it up the fairly steep slope. Zack and I stopped for a breather, and then began pushing ourselves up the path. I concentrated on keeping my breathing steady, just like Zack had shown me all those years ago, when we went for our very first run together. Inhale … hold briefly … exhale … inhale … hold briefly … exhale … I looked down at my feet, encased in their battered trainers, pounding along the dirt path. Always the same pace … it was rather hypnotising really. Seeing my shoes beating into the stones and dirt, hearing my regulated breathing, in and out, feeling Zack next to me, his breathing and pounding feet exactly the same pace as my own…it was just like old times. I even felt as though Aerith, pushing the bike up just ahead of us, panting ever so slightly, had been part of our twosome forever. Our twosome was now a threesome. At least they didn't give me the feeling of that saying – two's company, three's a crowd. Because I knew that I wouldn't have asked Aerith to join me and Zack on our brother-sister-run if she made me uncomfortable. I guess I was a bit jealous of her, yeah. I couldn't tell if I liked her. She was sweet and kind and looked as though she'd never said a mean word in her life. She made my brother happy. That had to mean something to me.

We splashed through the stream halfway up the cliff, pushing ourselves up further. I was panting harder now, sweat trickling down my forehead. One glance at Zack told me that he was finding it quite hard too. It seemed like we weren't as fit as we used to be. Aerith was still up ahead, managing better than I thought she would. I concentrated hard on my breathing – in and out, in and out, only coughing every now and then. It was definitely getting harder now – I was having a lot more trouble breathing. I regretted not doing this whilst Zack had been away; I had seemingly forgotten how to control my breathing.

Zack must have noticed that I was struggling, because he murmured as best as he could through his concentrated breathing: "Just a bit further, now."

I nodded as best as one can when panting and running and sweating all at the same time. I pushed myself, told myself to go further, promised myself that I would be rewarded if I got there. Just a bit further … just a bit further … a bit further…

There. We reached the final mount, and the view hit us as hard as a bullet. I slowed down until I had stopped running, and stared out. The whole of Gongaga lay at our feet, our hands were touching the sky and it felt as though the sunshine was kissing us all over. The view was … amazing. I always forgot each time how absolutely incredible the view was up here. It was like being on top of the world. With all the trees around, and the soft sunshine filtering down through the leafy shelter the tress provided, it was the perfect place to take friends, have a picnic, sleep … or just sit. And relax. Which was what I liked to do with Zack, after we had made the run up there. The sitting down and chilling out part was always our reward.

"Wow," I heard Aerith breathe. I grinned, looking over at her stood near the edge, the bike still stood upright in her hands, staring out over the village.

"Pretty cool, huh?" I said.

"It's _amazing_," she breathed. "Absolutely incredible."

Zack went over to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"Welcome to your new home," he said.

New home? Here? In the middle of nowhere?

"Really?" I asked. I made my way over to them, all three of us looking out over our home.

"Yep," he grinned. "I didn't get a chance to tell ya, Dad was so mad about the dropping out thing."

"So what are you gonna do now?"

"Live here … find a job … stay with my girlfriend." He bent down and pecked Aerith on the cheek. I felt myself smiling at the affection – it was about time my big brother found himself a girlfriend. Well, one that really cared for him too. Zack wasn't exactly unpopular with the few girls there were in our village, but he had admitted to me before he left for university that he had never been with a girl who actually cared for him … well as much as he cared for them.

"So how did you two meet?" I asked.

"I live in Midgar. We just kind of … met. On the street. I sold him a flower, he asked for a date … and that was it."

"What, do you believe in love at first sight?"

"You got it." Aerith smiled widely. I felt myself smiling again, pleased for the two of them. They were lucky, they'd found love … not everyone gets to experience love. And sometimes love is cut short. Like with my mother and father. I didn't want that to happen to me. It had scared me, when I saw how sad Dad had been after her death, how the grief took over him and refused to let him go. So I was scared too, I guess. Scared of feeling too strongly for someone, in case that person left as suddenly as Mum had been forced to leave Dad. I'd loved her too, but not in the same way as Dad. He was _in love_ with her. He still was. He loved her as strongly as he had the day she died, maybe even more so. And that love was slowly, slowly but surely killing him.

I was too scared to go through something like that.

"Time for us to go," I heard Zack murmur.

"Okay,"

"You're going?" I swung around to look at them. "Already? We just got here."

"Yeah, well, Aerith's got some unpacking to do," Zack grinned, and putting a hand on Aerith's shoulder, they turned, and began walking away, wheeling the bike between them.

"You coming Teef?" he called back.

"No … I think I'll stay up here for a while." I called back, but there was no point. They had already disappeared down the slope, the faint squeaking growing more and more distant. The sun was bright, and warm on my skin.

I sighed, and flopped down on the ground, crossing my legs. I guessed he was too wrapped up in his girlfriend to really care about what I was going to do. Well, alright. I'd let him have that … for now. Because this wasn't going to last forever. He would be my brother again, even if with a girlfriend. I knew he would. He'd go back to being my brother in the end. He had to.

I was just sitting there, drinking in the view and wondering why exactly I hadn't been up here for so long, when I heard the movement behind me. You know how tiny things, like the crunch of gravel or the sound of something moving very slowly through grass can get you anxious, and really frightened? It was like that. I could hear something slowly, very slowly approaching me from behind. I clutched my knees tighter together, ignoring the goosebumps that had now risen to attention on my arms, and tried not to look around. To be honest, I was really worried about what I would find if I did turn around.

The sun disappeared behind a cloud. Another shadow passed over me. I felt like all the warmth I had been revelling in earlier had been sucked straight out of me.

"Well well," a voice, presumably from the person, or creature behind me, drawled. "If it isn't little Teefy Fair,"

I turned around then. Because I wasn't surprised with what I met. I'd recognised who it was from the moment I'd heard that voice.

"Oh, Kadaj …" I mumbled. "You frightened me."

Kadaj Shinra was the son of a local, wealthy landowner, the son of a local business tycoon and the son of a local MP. His father was like a celebrity around here, as was Kadaj himself – national swimming champion at the age of just fourteen, perfect exam results and currently studying business and politics at Wutai University, the best in the country. I guessed he had come home for the summer, just like Zack. Well, I knew Kadaj wouldn't have dropped out of university – no woman could ever steal his heart away like Aerith had done with Zack. Others may have welcomed Kadaj home enthusiastically, but I wasn't too sad to say that I was one of those people. I had never really liked Kadaj. There were lots of rumours around, mainly between the few people my age around here, about Kadaj, and the girls in my year at school. I knew one girl, Cissnei, had been terrified of him ever since the night of her sixteenth birthday, when she and a couple of her friends had gone out to the local pub. I was frightened of him because of that – and also the fact that his eyes, a horrible, bright, lucid green, were too close together for my liking, and his hair, always flopping in his face, made me want to scream at him to get a haircut. His fringe was so ridiculously big, it stretched across his face and reached his chin. He looked like some sad, stupid emo.

And here he was, sidling up to me as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. I stood up, feeling at a disadvantage sat on the floor. He smirked at me, and took a step closer to me, too close for my liking.

"So, Zack home yet?"

"Today. We all just got home today." God, did I have to sound so jumpy, and wobbly? I sounded like a total, simpering, terrified girl, and I hated it. I didn't _want_ to be scared anymore. Not of him.

"Is he coming out tonight?" Kadaj took another too close step. There was hardly any space between us now, and I could feel his breath, disgusting and warm, with a familiar tang of whiskey to it, on my cheeks. I felt dirtied, just by the feel of him breathing heavily on me. I shrank back away from him, and he smirked at me again.

"I … I don't know. Maybe."

"Well," he grinned, and licked his lips, leaving them shining wetly in a way that I found almost revolting. "You say 'hi' to him for me, okay? Let him know that I'm home too." I nodded. Agreeing with him seemed like the best option.

And then, to my horror, he was reaching forward, grabbing one of my hands, and pulling it slowly towards his chest. He was wearing a grey vest top, and just over the neck of it I could see the hairs of his chest, glistening and matted with sweat. The same sweat had seeped through the front of the vest, leaving a dark circle around the neckline that was visibly damp. It looked repulsive, I was pretty sure it would _feel_ repulsive and I was very certain that I didn't want my hand anywhere near him, nor his chest, nor his sweat.

"No-" I tried to protest, yanking my hand away from him, but he held on tightly, so tightly that it hurt and I cried out. His eyes narrowed as they stared straight into my face, and he pulled my hand forwards, down towards the glistening hair and damp material that was his upper body. I struggled still, trying desperately to wriggle out of his grip, but he still held on tightly. I guess I could have hit him with my other hand, or kicked him, or aimed my knee between his legs, but I was so horrified and frightened that I couldn't move, no matter how hard I tried. I was frozen.

And then, he'd pushed my hand downward one final time, until my hand was pressed against his chest. It was as revolting and nauseating as I had thought it would be, and it made my hand go horribly cold and clammy as he pushed my hand down further, down his chest, over his flat, almost concave stomach and towards the waistband of his jeans.

"No!" I yelled, and pulled once more, this time managing to wrench my hand out of his grip. I wanted to hit him, was ready to, but I knew I couldn't Knew that it would be stupid to. I could see the headline if I did: **CRAZED LOCAL GIRL ATTACKS MP'S SON**. I actually imagined the headline, I was so certain of what would happen if I hit him. So I stood there, staring at him for a full minute and panting hard, before turning on my heel and running, running back down the mountain and trying to put as much distance between Kadaj and myself as possible. He gave me a final parting sentence, one that I almost missed. But it was impossible to miss, it hung unmistakably in the air: "I'll be seeing you, little Tifa Fair."

I only stopped by the stream to wash the tears from my face, but I found myself staring at my reflection in the wavering surface. Had I been asking for it? I knew that if I said anything, to Dad, Zack or anybody at all, that was what he would tell them. But was it true? Was that it? _Was_I asking for it? I shook my head, and scrubbed furiously at my cheeks as more tears fell down my already raw face.

Sneaking back into the house wasn't as easy as I had anticipated – I bumped straight into Zack in the hall, just as I was wiping away the final tears from my salted cheeks. He took in my red eyes, sore cheeks and still trembling lips, and grabbed my arm as I tried to push past him to climb the stairs.

"Hey, are you crying?" he asked. I shook my head. I could see that he wanted to press me further, but I just eased my arm out of his grip and started up the stairs. I could feel his gaze on my back the entire journey up to my room.

It was hard. I couldn't tell him, because, well, Kadaj Shinra and my brother were best friends.

* * *

That evening, Zack announced that he was taking Aerith out to the pub in the village. Just like that – he didn't invite me or Dad, just said that he was going to introduce Aerith to some friends. I heard them leaving as I was taking a bath; Zack muttering something to Dad, Aerith giving a cheery goodbye, and then the door slamming, and then finally the sound of Zack's motorbike, the one that had been in the yard that morning, roaring off. I listened hard, and upon hearing Dad's study door close, and the very distant sound of a bottle opening, and of whiskey pouring into as glass – a sound very familiar, one that made me think instantly of home, one that I had to strain my ears to hear – I leant back against the tiles of the bathroom wall. I slid down them, due to the condensation on the tiles and the water on my back. The dampness just made me think of Kadaj Shinra's chest, warm, damp and glistening, and it was all I could do not to be sick. I looked at my hands, soaked from sitting in the bathwater, and started crying again, deep, heaving sobs that I made no effort to quieten. Dad wouldn't hear me. He was probably too drunk to hear his daughter sobbing in the bathroom upstairs.

It was later, when I was in the kitchen making myself a late night cup of hot chocolate, when Dad swung into the kitchen. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair rumpled where I guessed he'd been running his fingers through it and he seemed very tired, no, exhausted, as he just stood there in the middle of the kitchen, his old scratchy cardigan done up with the buttons done up in the wrong holes. He looked a mess. A tired, rather drunk mess.

"The kettle's just boiled, if you want some tea," I told him. "Do you want me to make you a cup?" He shook his head, and wearily made his way over to the cupboard under the sink, from which he produced a fresh bottle of whiskey. He stood there for a moment, whiskey bottle in hand as he stared out of the kitchen window and into the dark, empty garden.

"Strange day," he murmured. I nodded stirring the milk into my hot chocolate. Above us, the floorboards and beams of the old house groaned as the wind whistled through them. In a way, the house reminded me of Dad – old, exhausted, with aching bones … I looked at him, as he watched the still garden, and I took in the old, worn, lined face, the hair that was scrubby, and more salt than pepper, sparse on his soft head, the copious amounts of grey hair sprinkled across his beard and moustache … Dad looked like an old man, but he was in fact forty three – my mother's death had aged him considerably.

"You alright?" he suddenly asked me. I put down the spoon that I had been stirring my drink with, and stared at it on the kitchen table. I mulled his question over on my head. Was I alright?

"Yeah, I guess so …" I murmured. I picked up my mug and took a sip from it, nearly burning my tongue. Dad nodded, still staring out of the window.

"But you'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

"Nothing's wrong Dad. I'm fine." He nodded again.

"No one ever kept a secret as well as a child." There was a silence; a rather uncomfortable one that I felt was my duty to break.

"I'm not a child, Dad."

"No," he replied, finally drawing his eyes away from the window and looking sadly into my own eyes instead. "And that's the truth of it."

I just stood there, unsure of what to say, until he leant forward and placed a slightly scratchy kiss on my cheek.

"Night, love."

He went to leave the kitchen, swinging the bottle in his hand, when I murmured: "Dad, don't drink too much, please?"

"You have my word, Tifa."

"Please."

"I promise." And then he walked back to his study, whistling softly, and gently shut the door.

I was just heading out into the hall, meaning to go back up the stairs and towards my room, when my fingers brushed the top of it. _It_ was the lid that covered the keys on the old piano in the hall. I stopped and looked at it. The music book stood on the stand, still open on the song Amazing Grace, the one she had always said was her namesake. Just touching the wood of the lid brought back memories of sitting there on the soft stool, as her long, graceful fingers helped my short stubby ones find the cool keys, the soft murmur of her voice as she hummed along to the tune we were playing that day. I pulled my hand away quickly, as though I had been burnt, and headed up the stairs. It had been Mum's piano. No one, not even I, had played it in five years.

As I lay in bed that night, watching the hands on my clock inch their way around to eleven o'clock and holding a well-thumbed copy of the Catcher in the Rye in my hands, I heard Dad's study door opening and closing, and I listened to him climb the stairs. He stopped outside my room to sigh, to whisper my mother's name. He then continued to his room, singing softly. "I once was lost …" But then the singing stopped. I don't think he had heart to finish it. He was far from being found, no matter how hard I tried to kid myself. His bedroom door opened and closed, and then there was more silence.

Her name was Grace Marie Fair. She was just thirty five years old when she died.

* * *

At eleven thirty, when I was still engrossed in the Catcher in the Rye, a car pulled up onto the drive. I remembered that Zack and Aerith had left on the motorbike, so I put down the book, and knelt up on the bed to peer out of the window through my drawn curtains. It was a taxi-cab. I watched as, illuminated in the moonlight, Aerith paid the driver, thanked him and got out of the car. She made her way silently down the drive, waving as the taxi-cab pulled away. She was alone.

I flopped back down on the bed again, picking up the book irritably. I heard her open and close the front door as quietly as she could, and then patter across the hallway and up the stairs. Her sandals flapped noisily against each step as she climbed – tap, tap, tap-tap … it was like listening to a hesitant clock, as I knew she was trying to stop her sandals from being so noisy by slowing down as she climbed – which, in turn, made the sounds more noticeable. Aerith made it up the stairs eventually, and as she crossed the landing on her way to the guest bedroom, she paused outside of my bedroom, just as Dad had done. She sighed heavily, but chose not to come in. I heard her finish the journey to her bedroom and slowly close the door. The house was silent once more. I put down the book, flipped the switch on my bedside light and nestled down under the covers, trying to get some sleep.

That was easier said than done. My dreams consisted of various, horrifying images: a wet and oily Kadaj, plonking away on my poor mother's piano; my father, huddled in a corner, swamped by an enormous, wonky cardigan; Aerith and Zack, stood there, sopping wet and holding between them a boy, a messy haired blonde boy that I had never seen before. The blood running down his pale, white face skin and leaking from his torso, and his lifeless body and close eyes told me he was dead. I started screaming, and I couldn't stop screaming, like that morning when I had caught sight of my brother in the kitchen, I was screaming like a crazed girl, and I couldn't stop it. Not even when I opened my eyes, realising that I was sat up in bed, someone's hand over my mouth, somehow managing to stifle my cries. The salty tang in my mouth told me that I was crying. My cries died down to whimpers, and then deep, shuddering breaths. How many times was I going to cry today? The hand was removed from my mouth, and Zack wrapped his arms around me, gently rocking us to and fro. I leant my head on his shoulder, breathing in his smell, feeling his hair tickling my cheek. It was too long, now, I remember thinking. It really needed a cut.

My breathing slowly returned to normal, and Zack's whispers of comfort in my ear died down, until we were just sat there holding each other. He pulled away, and, staring into my eyes with his own calm, bright blue eyes, so bright that they seemed to glow, smoothed my hair away from my face.

"Just a nightmare, Teef. You're alright." He whispered thickly. I nodded slowly.

"When did you get in?"

"Just now." I glanced at the luminous display of clock face, and realised with some worry that it was a quarter past three. What on earth had Zack been _doing_all of this time? There were a million questions I wanted to ask: where have you been? What were you doing? Who were you with? Instead of letting them run out of my mouth like I normally would, however, I kept quiet. I doubted he wanted an interrogation at this time in the morning.

"Come downstairs, I'll make you some tea. There's someone I want you to meet."

Zack stood up, and took my hand, gently leading me out of bed. I took the old cardigan he passed me – one of Dad's, a scratchy, holey thing with several buttons missing – and followed him out of the room. I vaguely remember wondering as we padded silently down the stairs who Zack wanted me to meet – who was visiting us at this time in the morning? But, any doubts that I may have had at the time, I must have ignored them and pushed them to the back of my head, because I obediently followed Zack across the hall and towards the kitchen.

The door to the kitchen was open, and I just walked in easily. It was so different to the way that I had entered the kitchen the previous day, certain that there was a burglar lurking within our old, musty kitchen. I almost laughed at the thought of it as I strolled – well, shuffled, I was still quite drowsy – into the warm room.

But then I stopped dead. Because there was a boy sat at my kitchen table. A boy, one I had never met before in my life but one that I instantly recognised. Except last time I saw him, he was lifeless and dripping in blood, a motionless corpse. And yet now, he was alive and well, although a little tired, sat at my kitchen table. His hair was messier than it had been in my dream, sticking up at all angles and somehow defying gravity, but something told me that it was like this naturally.

And suddenly, I was five years old, looking at a picture of an angel in one of my father's books, tracing my stubby finger over the blonde hair, pale, porcelain-looking flawless skin, deep blue eyes and beautifully carved features. I was looking at him, at the picture, in awe – he was so undeniably beautiful that it was completely unreal. His forehead was creased with concern, or anxiety, or worry, or even nerves, I just didn't know, he looked scared, and I got the feeling that he always looked this way. I found it rather endearing, to be honest. His beautiful dark eyes stood out and sparkled with anxiety against his smooth, creamy skin … he was an angel, someone so heavenly, so holy and unreachable that I could only dream of talking to him, touching him … and then he looked at me, fixing those blue, sparkling eyes upon my own wine coloured ones, seeming to see straight through me and into my soul.

I wasn't five years old. And he wasn't an angel. He was a boy, maybe only a year or so older than myself, sat at my kitchen table. And I was a fifteen year old girl with a gormless look on her face.

* * *

**Chibi: Well, there you have the first chapter. There's only a few edits that I've made right now (28/9/2011). The writing before was fine but since I started this story (around 2007) I feel that my writing style has matured somewhat, so I only changed some of the glaringly embarrassing (for me) parts. Anyway, thank you for reading. Please review!**


	2. Two

**Chibi: Ah, Two. Good old Two. I like Two.**

**As always ... please review!**

* * *

**Two**

"Tea or coffee, Teef?" Zack mumbled. He pushed past me into the kitchen (I'd been stood like an idiot in the doorway, staring at the stranger), running a hand wearily through his crazy, spiked hair and yawning. I suddenly felt very aware that I was dressed only in a pair of ancient, crumpled, paisley print pyjama bottoms and an old, lacy black vest top. I was also horribly aware that I wasn't wearing a bra.

"Tea, please." I stiffly moved forward and sat down at the table, sitting opposite the blonde boy, watching my brother as he fumbled around with the kettle – he was a new comer to the culinary arts – until I got up again, and shooed his hands away, filling the kettle up with water and putting it on the hotplate of the stove. Zack looked sheepish for a moment, before going over to the cupboard that Dad had opened earlier that evening, and producing a bottle of whiskey. As I ripped open a new box of teabags, dropping them one by one into the _Bananafish _tin that we kept them in, I watched Zack get down two glasses from another cupboard, and proceed to fill both of these glasses up with whiskey. He took a deep drink from one, and then put the other one in front of the blonde boy, who stared at it for a few minutes, before realising what it was and picking it up, drinking deeply from it.

The kettle began whistling, so I picked it up off of the stove, pulling down the hotplate lid as I did, and pouring the water liberally into my mug. I could feel the blonde boy's eyes on me as I sat back down again opposite him, using a teaspoon to dunk the teabag up and down, and then stirring in milk and sugar. After I had done this, I noticed that both Zack and this new boy had drained their glasses of whiskey, and Zack was pouring them another. No, he was pouring the boy another glass, and then he himself was drinking out of the bottle. I guessed my brother was in need of it – he was certainly drinking it down quick. I thought with a pang of guilt of Aerith lying upstairs in bed, asleep or waiting for Zack to come home, whilst he sat downstairs in the kitchen, knocking back whiskey. I wasn't sure of how much he'd had to drink that night, but I had a fair idea – his eyes were bloodshot and he looked very tired; a sure sign that he'd drunk a fair amount. The blonde boy looked only slightly better – his eyes weren't as bloodshot as Zack's. I watched him pick up his glass again, and take another long, deep drink from it, before rubbing at his eyes resignedly. Then he looked up at me, and I could see even through the tiredness and the red around his irises, the crystal blue stood out, shone brightly, almost too brightly in his pale face.

"Are you okay now?" he asked me.

"Huh?"

"You were crying…we could hear you…"

"Oh," I mumbled, and then I blushed deeply. I was pretty embarrassed, to tell the truth. I didn't really like people knowing that I was crying, so the fact that he and Zack had heard me crying was a bit weird, it felt like they'd read my diary or something. And the fact that they could hear me downstairs surely meant that I had woken Dad and Aerith up … and what must this strange, beautiful boy think of me? A girl my age, crying in her sleep? Crying so loud that everyone could hear? "Yeah … I had a bit of a bad dream." I managed to mutter, hoping we could end any talk about this subject, but to my surprise he nodded.

"I know what you mean," he murmured, before looking down into his glass, staring at the whiskey inside and looking as though he wanted to drown himself in it.

"This is my little sister, Tifa," Zack yawned. The boy nodded vaguely. "And Tifa, this is Cloud."

The name set off a bell in my head, and I looked at him studiously for a minute, trying to work out how I could remember the name. And then, I remembered coming down the stairs to grab a towel, just before my bath the previous day, and seeing Dad stood at the front door, listening to an excited Mrs. Ruvi (our aged next door neighbour who adores any gossip or news about the village) talk about a newcomer.

"… a strapping young lad he is, staying with his father, old Mr. Strife, for the summer … yes, some strange name, Sky or Bird or something … no, that's it, _Cloud_. Strange name if you ask me, but apparently his mother was some kind of earth child … but he's seems strong, very handsome (takes after his father if you ask me), and he offered to help me with my gardening, so he's picking my courgettes for me next Tuesday … they're coming along nicely, now, thank you for asking … it's this beautiful weather…" And so she continued, jabbering on about the weather and the village fete next month whilst my Dad stood there trying to nod and not yawn at the same time.

And here was the same, strapping young lad that Mrs. Ruvi had been so ecstatic about, in my kitchen, opposite me. She'd certainly describe him perfectly – young, strapping, strange name, handsome … he was undeniably beautiful – a phrase that had passed through my head as soon as I'd seen him.

"Are you … Mr. Strife's son?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yeah … Cloud Strife, that's me," he said. He was surprisingly soft-spoken – I had to lean right in close sometimes to just hear him. He sounded pretty calm, thanks to his soft voice, but I could see from the way he kept looking away from me and to the side, or into his whiskey glass, or even just a glance at Zack to reassure himself, that he was pretty nervous, or else rather embarrassed. It sounds strange, but the fact that he was so soft-spoken – never needed to raise his voice; the only time, I guessed, would be to yell, in pain or anger … I wasn't sure. But anyway, the fact that he spoke so softly sort of calmed me. I was pretty jumpy, early that morning, as I sat there sipping my tea delicately and watching my brother and this beautiful stranger, Cloud, drown themselves in whiskey, and so his soft voice sort of calmed me down. It relaxed me, made me sit back in my seat and drink my tea deeply, inhaling the warm aroma of it as I hid my face in the mug. I was hiding my face to hide the blush that was creeping over my face again. I guess it was the thought that Cloud's voice relaxed me made me all embarrassed again.

"Well," murmured Zack, screwing the top back on the considerably empty whiskey bottle and putting it back in the cupboard. "I think we should all go to bed. You want us to put you up for the night, Cloud?" Cloud shook his head.

"No … I should go home. My Dad might worry …" he gestured vaguely with his hand, and we nodded, as though that unclear gesture actually meant something to us. We nodded as though we understood, and, in a way – I guess we did.

"I'm going back to bed then," I mumbled. I was feeling quite drowsy again, to be honest. The tea, and meeting Cloud, and soothed me a bit, and I felt quite ready to go back to bed and face those nightmares, if they came, once more.

"Good night," Zack said. I kissed him softly on the cheek.

"Night," Cloud murmured. I nodded vaguely in his direction, and then muttered "Good night" to them both, before heading out of the kitchen and back into my bedroom. As I settled back down into my cool bed, with it crisp, white sheets that were inviting me back for an easy, dreamless sleep, I heard Zack say goodbye to Cloud, and then the front door opened and closed.

I knelt up on my bed, just like I had done a few hours previously to watch Aerith climb out of a taxi-cab, and I watched Cloud, this strange, beautiful boy walk away from my house. His hair was illuminated by the moonlight, and he stood out like a beacon. A beacon for what, though, I wasn't sure. Hope? Danger? Love? Happiness? Heart-break?

As I watched the boy I already felt strangely attached to; even then I knew it, deep in my heart – he turned, and looked straight up at my window. It was as though he was looking straight into my soul, and even in the darkness I could see those brilliant blue eyes of his, glowing and searching through me. Just looking at him made me feel even calmer, more relaxed. I would later remember this, on top of the mountain that over-shadowed our village, as the rain shot down and spattered against skin and mingled with blood. I would always remember this.

* * *

It never struck me to ask Zack why he and Aerith hadn't come home together, that night; why he and Cloud had returned to the house at a quarter past three in the morning, and why Cloud had come to our house in the first place. I never asked most of the former stuff, so I still don't know why to this day, but I did ask Zack, after everything had happened, why he invited Cloud back to our house. Zack told me that he thought Cloud would like to meet me.

"Why?" I asked.

"He seemed to need a woman in his life. Or a girl, for that matter. And I thought of you. It seemed like you would be able to make him happy."

Zack then went on to say about how he had always had a hunch, as soon as he put Cloud and me together that something phenomenal was going to happen, blah blah blah, in his usual I'm-always-right kind of way, and so I stopped listening at that point. But what had struck me was the fact that Zack had thought, upon meeting Cloud in the Gongaga Inn that night, that Cloud needed a woman in his life. It was funny how things like that always turned out to be true in the end.

* * *

The next morning, I took breakfast in the kitchen with Aerith, who had been up since eight o'clock, making waffles and looking as fresh as a daisy, and we waited patiently for Zack to wake up and join us. I was watching her potter about the kitchen, looking very at home, even going so far as to make my father tea in the exact way he liked it and take it to him in his study (Dad seemed to be softening towards Aerith); when the doorbell rang. So, I swallowed my mouthful, got up and dusted waffle crumbs off of my pyjama bottoms, padded across the cool tiles of the hallway and opened the door.

"So when the hell were you planning on telling me you were home, betch?" I felt myself smiling just upon hearing the words, even though my best friend had just used the lame word "betch". "I had to find out from fricking Kadaj Shinra that my best girlfriend was home!"

"I thought you liked Kadaj?"

"Yeah, well, it ain't his business to tell me when my best mate gets home, is it? I should be hearing that from you, girl!" As she said the words _from you_, Yuffie stepped forward and poked me hard in the chest. Then her frown melted away, and she smiled with me.

"Come here, girl," she muttered, and wrapped her arms around me. "Nice tan you got there. Non-existent, I like it. What you do, sit under an umbrella wrapped in a shawl all the fortnight?"

"Yeah, well, you know me, the Girl with the Porcelain Skin."

"Too right. I gave you that name, and I wouldn't want ya to ruin your reputation, now, would I?"

Yuffie Kisaragi had been my best friend ever since we were three years old, and met in nursery, when she hit me over the head with an inflatable bus. I loved her to pieces, and she had always been exceedingly bubbly and mad – the life and soul of any party – but even now, looking at her after I had been away for two weeks, she had definitely changed. Not just in appearance - although her hair had been chopped from it lovely long locks, that used to reach her waist and were the envy of nearly every girl in the village, to a short, choppy, stylish bob, and she was dressing differently again, with a pair of _Rayban Wayfarers_ balanced on her nose (her family were stinking rich too) – but she was definitely becoming a bit, well, wild. I could see, even through the dark lenses of the glasses, that she hadn't slept at all last night, as there her slightly tanned skin looked pale and tired, and there were large, dark circles under her eyes. I could also see a huge, painful looking love-bite on her neck, although she had clearly tried to cover it a bit with concealer.

"So, you were out last night?" I asked her, stepping back to let her in. She stepped inside, and I closed the door behind her. She slipped off her glasses, pushing them onto the top of her head, and I could see her wincing at the bright light of the hallway. I knew the signs of a Yuffie Hangover, and these were as obvious as hell.

"Yeah … does it show?" I nodded.

"Someone's left their mark." She winced again, and prodded the bruise on her neck gingerly. "So who did that?"

"Fricking Yazoo. Last time I let him buy me a vodka-cranberry…I asked for a single, but that was definitely a triple…" I nodded as though I understood. Yeah, like I was a part of this world where love-bites from random strangers, alcohol and staying up all night were the main attractions. Yuffie had always been popular with the boys in our village. She was about as popular with the boys as Zack has been with the girls. I can still remember only a year before, shortly after she'd turned fourteen, Yuffie bounding up to me at school, and proudly declaring that she had lost her virginity the night before to one Reno Beck. They had only been going out for a week. And they only lasted another week after that. But Yuffie was pretty much the object of desire for all of the boys in Gongaga. Each year, she ended up with one boy for most of the summer, and this summer, she'd picked Kadaj Shinra.

"So, get your togs on."

"Huh?"

"Get some nice clothes on! We're going out!"

"Out where?"

"To Midgar!"

"What? That's three hours away by train! I don't have the money for that!"

"It's only two hours by car, if you know the right routes! And I got us a lift with someone who does!"

"Who?

"It's a surprise! Now, come on!" She grabbed my hand and yanked me up the stairs towards my room. I thought sadly of the remaining half of my waffle, sitting down there in the kitchen on a plate, drowned in maple syrup, slowly growing cold. I have to say, I was fairly used to Yuffie coming up with mad, spur of the moment ideas. But I wasn't really willing to take a two hour trip to Midgar. I shook my head, and sank down wearily on my unmade bed as Yuffie wrenched open my wardrobe and began deciding on my outfit.

I'm not a big style queen, or a fashion like follower Yuffie, preferring to spend the summer in shorts and t-shirts and the winter in jeans and jumpers, but I have nice clothes that Yuffie made me buy when we went out shopping. And so, it was these clothes that Yuffie began pulling out of my wardrobe.

I looked at her, then, and began taking in her outfit. She was dressed in an impossibly short yellow denim miniskirt, a sheer, white, lacy blouse, the _Raybans_, and a pair of incredibly high stacked black wedges. She looked amazing, I had to say, but she also looked like a slut. I wondered then where in Midgar she wanted us to go, and if she was going to dress me in something similar.

"Here, put this on!" She called, handing me a dress. I wasn't sure if I should wear it out in the middle of the day. It was more of a party dress. But, looking at what Yuffie was wearing, I could have got away with it in church on a Sunday. So I pulled off my pyjama bottoms and black vest, selected some clean underwear from my drawer and began getting dressed.

"And these, they're great…" Yuffie was mumbling, throwing down a pair of heels she had tricked me into buying on our last shopping trip. They had been impossibly expensive, and had cost about three months worth of pocket money from Dad. But they were nice. Although extremely high. I was quite worried about what Dad and Zack were going to say when they saw me dressed like a hooker.

"You're so lucky you don't need makeup." Yuffie sighed. She closed my wardrobe and sat down carefully on the floor, waiting for me to finish. She sat patiently in my room as I brushed my teeth, packed my handbag and sprayed myself with perfume. She then bounded down the stairs, pulling me with her, and tried to stifle a giggle as I guiltily stole thirty gil from Dad's wallet, which had been left on the table in the hall. And then, I yelled a quick goodbye to everyone and let Yuffie drag me out of the house.

* * *

The surprise was that we were to travel to Midgar in the back of Kadaj Shinra's van. Yeah, in _his_ van. After yesterday, up at the mountain, I didn't want to spend any time with that boy whatsoever, but it looked like I was going to be stuck for the next two hours in his van. And it wasn't just him, either. No, his creepy friends who I couldn't stand, and were known as "rebels" throughout the village, were with us, cramped in the back of Kadaj's van. I recognised Yazoo immediately, with his long silver hair and feminine face (he looked like a girl, but I thought it rude and dangerous to voice this opinion – there were rumours that he carried a gun on him at all times), and there was also a man I had only seen a couple of times briefly when accompanying my father to the inn, and his name was Loz. He was a big, beefy, threatening kind of guy, who looked to be in his mid-twenties. His hair, unlike Kadaj and Yazoo's, was cut short and spiky, and he sat there, staring at me from across the van, a set of knuckledusters on his fingers that he kept stroking. They were pretty ominous and threatening looking – kind of spiky. I wondered briefly what it would feel like to have them driven into your face, which would surely happen if the wearer were to punch you, but it wasn't something I really wanted to test.

As we sat there, me trying to angle my legs in such a way that Loz and Yazoo couldn't see up my dress and Yuffie jabbering away to all three of the men in the car, I could feel Kadaj watching me through the rear-view mirror of the car. I glanced up, and he caught my eye, giving me a lecherous wink. I tried not to grimace and looked away. I didn't fancy finding out what it would be like to be chucked out of a speeding car, which was surely what he'd do if I got on the wrong side of him. There were rumours that Kadaj was bipolar, and I could see what people meant – his personality could change just like that. He could be a sort of easy going guy one minute, and then be violent and threatening the next. Not for the first time, I wondered why on earth my brother was friends with Kadaj Shinra.

Yuffie pulled out a packet of cigarettes, and shoved one in her mouth, fumbling around in her pocket for a lighter. It was nothing to be shocked about – Yuffie had made it very public on many occasions that she had been smoking twenty a day for a few years, and her mother often bought packets for her. She offered me one and I shook my head. I wasn't new to it either – when we were young it had felt like an exciting and rebellious thing to do. But right now, I felt that it would make me sick. Yuffie kept searching for a lighter, until Yazoo fished one out of his pocket and chucked it to her.

"Tar," she mumbled, lighting the cigarette dangling precariously from her lip. I saw Kadaj look up and into the rear-view mirror, and his eyes narrowed.

"What the-? No, no smoking in the back of my van!"

"Aw, c'mon Kadaj, like you've never smoked before?" Yuffie giggled.

"Smoking in the front is fine, where we can have the window open! I don't want this truck to stink of smoke just because you needed a fag!" Yuffie sighed in a big, dramatic way, and then stood up, wobbling unsteadily as the van bounced over a pothole, still giggling the entire time. Then she clambered very ungracefully through the gap of the front two seats, over the handbrake and settled down, taking a deep drag of her cigarette. I noticed that whilst she had taken this short journey, the entire van had gotten a very good look at her hot pink lace thong. I shook my head and tried to concentrate on not being sick. I didn't know if it was travel sickness or just the smoke or just the fact that we had all seen up Yuffie's skirt, but I was feeling very nauseous and I was pretty sure that anything else disgusting, be it a lecherous wink or another look at Yuffie's lingerie, would make me hurl all over the back of Kadaj Shinra's van.

We bounced over another pothole, and I was sent flying forward, straight into Yazoo's lap. I felt myself blushing furiously, and tried in vain to pull my dress down even further. He grinned at me, a sleazy, unwelcome grin, and I had to swallow a mouthful of vomit. I stood up shakily, and stumbled back over to my side of the van again, but not before Yazoo had given me a sharp slap on the backside. I ignored this, not really wanting to make a scene.

Yuffie twisted round, her ass up in the air and her elbows leaning on the headrest of her chair. She took another long, showy drag of her cigarette, and offered me it. I shook my head again.

"It's just a cigarette, girl. Not gonna kill ya. You ain't said no before."

"I just don't feel like it right now."

"Your Daddy does it."

"I know. But he doesn't offer me them, does he?" I tried to keep the irritable tone out of my voice, not wanting to start an argument with Yuffie, but it was pretty apparent. She didn't offer me one again.

Instead, she carried on chatting to us, well, Yazoo, Loz and Kadaj with me making 'mm' noises in agreement now and then. The journey seemed to last forever, and Kadaj was proving to be a reckless driver. But then, just as I thought I might actually vomit, he announced:

"And here's Midgar, folks!"

I looked up, through the windscreen, and sure enough we were in the city centre. It was impossibly busy, even though it was a Wednesday, with about a million cars circulating the roundabout at a time. It was smoky, hazy and noisy – completely the opposite of what I was used to. But it was exciting. Almost thrilling. I had only been here once before, to drop Zack off at university, and we hadn't seen much of the city. But Zack had given us the details we needed – it was a big shopping city, with numerous bars and clubs, but it was dirty. From our place in the middle of a traffic jam, I could see rats on the pavements, trying to avoid the heavy feet of pedestrians and eventually seeking refuge down the drains and in the sewers.

"Where to, Yuff?" Kadaj asked. He slapped her playfully on the backside, and she gave him a slow, seductive grin. Such was the way of Yuffie Kisaragi. I could tell already that she was going to find it very hard to hold out for the entire summer. She never did normally, anyway.

"Any shopping mall…and we'll meet you back outside the mall in four hours, 'kay?"

"Sounds good," Kadaj murmured, manoeuvring the car across a junction and pulling up in front of an enormous shopping centre. There was no back door in the van, or if there was, no one was willing to open it for me and enlighten me as to its whereabouts, so I had to take the journey through the front two seats, just as Yuffie had done, to get out. I was pretty certain that all three men got a good look at my underwear too. I was just relieved that I hadn't chosen the same type of lingerie as Yuffie.

With just a cheery wave to Kadaj, Yuffie pulled me towards the entrance of the shopping mall. I waited for the sound of the van pulling away, and I wondered briefly what Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo were planning on doing in Midgar (business? Shopping? I didn't think so) but the sound never came. I could still hear the soft purring of the van, letting me know that it was still switched on and ready to roar off at the flick of a wrist and a slight pressure on a pedal, but it wasn't moving. And when I turned, just before we went inside the complex, I saw Kadaj, just staring at us out of the door window. He saw me looking, gave a horrible, sordid grin, and then, the van kicked into motion once more, and it pulled away from the pavement, roaring off down the street.

* * *

It was quite relaxing, actually. Walking with my best friend, however mad and sluttish she may be with a seedy taste in lingerie; dipping in and out of shops and trying on nice new clothes, the warm feeling of having money in my pocket. Well, in my purse. It ought to have been fun. And for a while, it was. We meandered along through the mall, and we stopped in our favourite shops, and tried on pretty clothes, ridiculously expensive shoes, mad hats and strange scarves, all the while giggling. But pretty soon, as I watched Yuffie buy hundreds of gil's of clothes, handing over thick wedges of notes over as easy as anything (I guessed it was a token of Kadaj's affection, as Yuffie was always infamously broke), the warm feeling I'd had of money in my purse turned to an icy cold feeling, that froze my body as we walked. I knew what the feeling was, it was guilt – the guilt of knowing that I shouldn't have taken the money, I had only taken it to spend of stupid clothes when I knew that my Dad needed it more than I did, he didn't earn much as a writer and his bank account was running low. The house kitty – a small, ceramic pot in the shape of a frog with its mouth open that stood on the kitchen windowsill – had always been pretty full of money, notes and coins and the like; but since Mum had died, and Dad had turned even more towards his good, and sometimes only, friend whiskey, that little pot had recently only held a couple of golden coins.

I made myself promise to put the money back into his wallet as soon as I got home. It was pretty easy not to spend it, actually – unlike Yuffie I did not have a large obsession with buying new clothes, and I wasn't particularly tempted by the fast-food restaurants lining the mall. So I just sat back and watched, occasionally laughing with her, sometimes at her, as Yuffie tried on crazy clothes, bought expensive, beautiful clothes and pranced about, preening and flirting with the male shop assistants in impossibly revealing clothes. I felt quite embarrassed for at some points – didn't she realise she was making a fool of herself? – but most of the time I just felt a bit weird, a feeling that most probably came from knowing that my best friend had, as she seemed to have threatened to do for the last couple of years, veered out of my control.

After about two hours, Yuffie claimed herself to be "shopped out", as she put it, and we left the shopping mall, Yuffie laden with numerous shopping bags and me swinging my little handbag, through a different entrance. We were soon lost in a maze of backstreets, filled with dodgy looking bars and equally dodgy looking men. I hoped we would turn around, and try and get back into mall, and find some other exit to leave through, but to my surprise, anger and annoyance, Yuffie turned to me, grinned, and giggled: "Let's go get a drink in _that_ bar!"

_That_ bar was a dark, dingy looking bar that would no doubt be thriving at night time. It wasn't the kind of place I had in mind to sit down in.

It wasn't hard for us to get in – the doorman just glanced at our short skirts, Yuffie grinned at him, biting her lip and pulling down the neckline of her blouse a little more, so that even more cleavage was on show, and he just waved us in. I can remember to this day the horribly excited looking smile he gave us as we tottered on inside, as if letting such young, soft, nubile flesh in was purely his pleasure. Or it could have just been Yuffie's deep cleavage, I'm not sure, but that smile always came to me whenever someone mentioned the word "porn" afterwards. I'm not entirely sure why.

Inside, the bar was relatively empty. There was music playing – loud, thumping music that had an all too familiar tune playing somewhere amidst the shouts and general talk of the people in the building. There was an upstairs area, where there were soft sofas and armchairs seated around low tables, and the lighting wasn't so harsh up there. I was hoping to go up there, to relax and maybe put up my feet, when suddenly Yuffie screamed loudly: "RENO?"

And just like that, she'd grabbed my arm, and was dragging me up the stairs to the upstairs area behind her, until we stopped in front of a fairly familiar redhead, seated on a soft looking sofa.

"Reno, you sonofabitch, why didn't ya tell me you were still here?"

And then she hugged him tightly. She sat down happily next to him, in the middle of the sofa, grinning widely and introducing herself to the big black guy sat down on the other end of the sofa. Reno, a redheaded boy (the very same who'd dated Yuffie) who we'd known from school and now attended Midgar University with Zack, and who had seemingly recently acquired some strange red tattoos underneath his eyes that stood out vividly on his pale skin; stood up to kiss me on the cheek.

"Hey Teef," he yelled over the music. "You look great, as always!"

"You too!" I screamed back.

"This is Rude!" Reno bellowed, gesturing to the bald, black guy, who was for some strange reason wearing a suit and sunglasses indoors, and whom Yuffie was talking to animatedly, and Rude nodded at me. I sat myself down on one of the armchairs nearby, and Reno yelled in my ear that he was off to get some drinks.

* * *

We drank a lot. We hadn't meant to, but Reno had insisted on buying round after round. It didn't seem to affect me whilst I was sitting down, numbly knocking back shots and nodding when Reno offered to get another round. But once Yuffie had checked her watch, and announced that we needed to meet Kadaj, and I had stood up, I could feel the effect of the alcohol. So, I guess, I was pretty drunk as we tripped out of the club and into the maze of backstreets beyond it.

I don't exactly remember the journey back to the van, or how we managed to find our way back into the mall, I just remember stumbling out of the entrance of the mall, and checking my purse to find that I'd lost the money I'd been intending to return to my father. I felt pretty ashamed of myself, to be honest. Stealing money from dad, getting stupidly drunk underage … but I felt even more ashamed of myself when the van loomed into view, and leant against it, talking to Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo were Zack and Cloud, the strangely beautiful boy from that early that morning. I felt myself blushing with shame and embarrassment as Yuffie and I tripped over our own feet in an effort to get to the van. I didn't know why Zack and Cloud were here, in Midgar, but as I tried to ask Zack I tripped again, and he roughly grabbed my arm and hauled me upright. He was swaying nauseously in and out of my line of vision, but even through my drunken stupor I could see the surprise, anger and disappointment in his eyes.

"What the _fuck _do you think you're playing at, Tifa?" he hissed. I could see Cloud looking away in embarrassment, which made my face flush even deeper. I think it was the fact that Cloud was seeing me in such a vulnerable, disgusting state that did it. I tried to make my fuggy brain focus, but it didn't do much good – all I could really see were the wavering images of Zack and Cloud, projected into my eyes as though through a dirty lens.

"You're lucky that I'm not gonna tell Dad that I found you in fucking _Midgar_, of all places, _drunk_!"

"What the hell are you doing here, anyway?" I managed to mumble, with only the hint of a slur.

"Cloud and I were just picking up the rest of my stuff from the dorm. We came by train, but Kadaj offered us a lift back. I'm glad I did, now." He fixed me with a serious, disappointed look, and then looked around, almost furtively, before leaning in close, to whisper in my ear: "What the hell are you doing, anyway, catching lifts with Kadaj, to bloody Midgar, for God's sake?"

"Yuffie's idea…"

"Ah," he said, almost understandingly, but I could tell he didn't understand. He'd never really trusted Yuffie, and I could finally see why. "Her prey for the summer?" I nodded. "Got it."

"You coming or what, Fair?" Kadaj yelled, beeping the horn of the van violently. He was leaning out of the van window, having evidently climbed in, along with everybody else. A back door to the van had been revealed and opened, my seat awaiting me inside. Zack moved to get into the passenger seat next to Kadaj, but then he stopped, and pulled off his jumper.

"Cover yourself up a bit, you can practically see your ass," he muttered, handing it to me. I nodded slowly, my mind taking a while to digest this information in its intoxicated state, and I then pulled it on. Thankfully, it came to just above my knees. I then tried to climb into the back of the van. I stumbled, and almost fell flat on my face on the floor of the van, but I managed to catch myself in time. Nobody bothered helping me anyway.

The only seat left was next to Cloud, who was sitting, staring – in a seemingly moody way, but I later found out that he was just nervous being around so many new people, and being around me – at the floor, across the way from Loz, Yazoo and Yuffie, who I noticed with some disgust had climbed onto Yazoo's lap and was kissing him feverishly. I had to remind myself over and over that she - and, of course, I – was drunk, but it was still a pretty sluttish and gruesome display of affection. I could see Kadaj watching them vaguely in the van mirror, but if he cared he didn't show it. I remember thinking at the time, whilst sorting through the jumble of words and images in my intoxicated mind, if Yuffie was doing this with Yazoo to make Kadaj jealous. He didn't really seem to be, but then it was always hard to tell with him.

He had evidently taken something – I wasn't sure what, though – because his eyes were as wide as saucers, and his movements were wild and jerky, which became worse as he started driving down the road, and then pulling out riskily onto the motorway at top speed. His hands twitched on the steering wheel, as though restless.

"How bout TUNES, Fair? Huh? Yeah hah, tunes!" He yelled, looking at Zack expectantly. Zack shrugged in a bored manner, but Kadaj was not perturbed. He twisted back dangerously, taking his eyes off of the road, and looked back at us in the back of the van.

"How bout you, Cloudy BOY? You want some effing TUNES? I got tunes, yeah, I got every music-"

"-Just drive the car." Cloud muttered. Kadaj twisted back round to face the road.

"Yesserie, I'll drive the car, I can do that, old Strife…Strifey boy…" He was acting as though he belonged in a mental ward, and I began worrying for our safety when I leant forwards and saw on the speedometer how fast he was driving. I began wishing we could get home as soon as possible.

We were about halfway home, still on the motorway, when it happened. The van bounced – over a pothole, I presume – and the movement sent me flying, once again, across the van, this time into Loz's lap. I blushed, and stood up shakily, meaning to stagger back over to my side of the van, but he suddenly yanked me back down again. The feel of his hands in me, through the hooded material and on the bare skin of my thighs, made my skin crawl, and I fought the urge to vomit all over him, although that would have given quite a rewarding reaction. I merely glared at him, swallowing my mouthful of vomit like I had earlier that day, when I had found myself thrown at Yazoo, and tried to pull away, but he held on fast, his fingers digging into the flesh of my thighs.

"Let me go!" He ignored me, and I tried prising his fingers off of my thighs, one by one, but it was like trying to bend a metal rod – he was just too strong. "Get off!"

Cloud looked up at that point, and Zack turned around in his seat. At the same time, they registered the sight of me struggling to get out of Loz's lap, saw him holding on with a grin full of malice; they saw my fear, panic and desperation, and they saw the bruises slowly rising on my legs from his fingers.

"What are you doing?" Zack yelled.

"Get off her!" Cloud shouted - the loudest dialogue I had yet heard from him.

It was like they were yelling at a deaf man. But even a deaf man would be able to see the anger, pure rage, on their faces, and would have wisely let go of me. But Loz was neither deaf nor wise, just apparently stupid, and so he just held on to me, seemingly oblivious of the shouts of three different people and the girl struggling to get away from his grip.

"Please, let go!" I begged, feeling the onset of tears by the sting in my eyes. It was painful, now – it felt like metal claws clamped around my legs.

Zack seemed to snap at that point. I don't know if it was his anger that Loz was ignoring him, or the rage of seeing his little sister in such obvious pain, but something made him explode. At the time, none of us were very sure about what was happening. We were just suddenly spinning around and around, being bashed mercilessly against the sides of the van, until we smashed into something very solid and the spinning stopped. But, thinking back on it now, I can sort of form a little scene in my head, and work out exactly what happened: Zack threw himself between the two front seats, in an effort to pull me away from Loz, but knocked Kadaj as he did so. This sent the steering wheel spinning wildly out of control, which resulted in the van flying around in circles and finally smashing into the barrier at the side of the motorway.

We were lucky we all survived, what with the oncoming traffic as we span around. We all got a bit banged up from being bashed into the sides of the van, but other than that we were okay. Physically, anyway. I was shaking badly as we got out of the van, and Zack suddenly appeared and wrapped an arm around me. I watched, around the rise and fall of Zack's chest, Kadaj assess the damage done to the front of his van, and then there was a sudden yell of pain. We all turned, and saw Loz rubbing his jaw angrily, which was rapidly reddening, and then took in Cloud, stood there with his fists clenched, and we all managed to put two and two together. But Loz seemed to feel the need to help us, anyway.

"You hit me, you bastard!" he roared.

"You should have let go of her when she told you to."

"You'll pay for that!" Loz launched himself at Cloud, clearly meaning to punch him, and I winced at the thought of those knuckle dusters smashing into Cloud's face. But he never managed to do that, because Zack intervened, stepping between the two of them and pushing Loz away.

"Come on," he muttered. "We can sort this out another time. Right now, we need to figure out how to get home."

"No," Kadaj said suddenly. "I can drive this van home. You two," he pointed at Zack and Cloud, "need to figure out how to get home. And you can take your bitch with you."

I guess it was the unfairness of the situation, the injustice, the very idea that we were to be left on the side of a motorway miles from anywhere and it wasn't our fault, that made me do it. I'm not entirely sure; it could have just been my drunken mind being daft. But I suddenly reached out and slapped Kadaj Shinra as hard as I could around the face. It was as though I was perfectly sober, and it felt good, satisfying to do it, but I knew as soon as I saw his face that it had been a mistake. He looked absolutely livid – his eyes were wide again, the pupils tiny pinpricks in a mass of green, and he was breathing in a strangely heavy way.

"You _bitch_!" He bellowed, and grabbed hold of my wrist tightly, so tight it hurt and I yelled in pain, but Zack stepped forward again and wrenched Kadaj Shinra's hand off of my wrist.

"Don't you _ever_ touch my sister!"

Kadaj just stood there, panting, his eyes wide and staring, before turning angrily on his heel and climbing into the van. Loz and Yazoo followed suit without a word, but Yuffie hesitated. She had one foot in the van, and one foot on the roadside. She looked from Kadaj, inside the van and twitching angrily, to me, giving her pleading looks. I thought for a minute she was going to shut the van door and join me, Zack and Cloud, but instead she just gave a half-hearted shrug, as though to say "What can ya do?" and then hopped into the back of the van and slamming the door shut behind her. The van drove off quickly, careering briefly across the road before returning to the left and leaving us be.

It was a pretty awful feeling, watching my best friend drive away without me. I felt like yelling in anger, but I realised Zack must be feeling it to. Kadaj was his best friend, after all. But as I studied his face, as he watched the rapidly distant growing van, I couldn't read him. His face was blank, he was sending off zero signals and his body language was unnaturally wooden. I guess he was just shocked. I wasn't surprised at what Kadaj had done, but he seemed to be. Zack didn't know Kadaj like I did.

But now, we were stuck on the roadside, miles away from anywhere and over two hours away from Gongaga by foot, and it was growing dark. Things were not brightening up, nor looking up, in the least.

* * *

**Chibi: There it is, folks! Hope you enjoyed it. Sorry about swearing. I can't exactly pretend it doesn't happen in real life ...**

**Anyway, thank you for reading, and it would be great if you could please drop a review. See you in the next chapter!**


	3. Three

**Chibi: Again, some editing occurring here. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Three**

"They … they left us."

The statement hung in the air between the three of us. It had slipped out of Zack's mouth but it was what all three of us were thinking. They had actually left us on the side of the motorway. They had just driven off, not even a backwards glance. Yuffie, my best friend, had chosen Kadaj Shinra over me. She had chosen that asshole over me? Though, to be honest, when looking at how we were gonna have to walk and the shoes she and I were wearing, I didn't really blame her. For all I knew, she could have only been getting in the van because she wanted a lift home. Because now, Zack, Cloud and I had a two hour walk ahead of us, and the daylight was rapidly fading around us. Add the fact that I was wearing extremely high heels, and you've pretty much got a nightmare staring you in the face.

We stood around for a bit, unsure of what to do, or say, until finally, Zack cursed loudly and kicked at a can on the floor. It shot over the road, bounced off a car bonnet that was zooming past, and landed on the other side of the road. The driver of the car gesticulated angrily but carried on driving. Zack sighed, and then straightened up from his hunched position.

"Come on," he muttered. "Let's start walking." He strode off, almost marching angrily, his arms rigid and his legs fast and powerful. Cloud and I immediately followed him like a pair of sheep, or obedient dogs, following our master; the one we thought had all the answers, all the ideas. In my experience, Zack had always had a great idea, a plan. He was just that kind of guy. But right now, he seemed to be groping wildly in the air for his answers, no plan obvious except to walk the two hour journey home. And seeings as Cloud and I didn't have a better idea, it looked like we were gonna follow him home.

It started to rain. I began to shiver, because even though I was wearing Zack's jumper I was essentially just wearing a skimpy dress. I hugged myself, tripping over the ground and my own feet. Not for the first time that day, I cursed Yuffie and the stupid power she seemed to hold over me. What on earth had made me go with her today? How stupid was I to agree to go in a van to Midgar with a guy who was renowned for being a stupid drugged asshole, and was generally known for being a smarmy pervert? And why, why, _why_ had I agreed to wear these _stupid_ shoes? My drunken state had pretty much worn off now, and the cold, hard hitting reality of sobriety was hammering painfully into my head. Things seemed realistic when you were drunk. When you were sober, they seemed hopeless.

I tripped again, and this time I wasn't really able to catch myself, or stop myself from falling, and I would have fallen flat on my face if someone hadn't grabbed my arm. I found myself suspended in the air, the ground just in front of my face. I turned my head, seeing Cloud's almost unreadable face near mine. I felt red stain my cheeks embarrassingly at his closeness, and limply allowed him to pull me upwards.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I … I think so. I think I've twisted my ankle, though …" I mumbled. It certainly ached, and sparks of pain flashed up my leg when I tried to stand on both feet. Cloud looked at my ankle like it was a confusing advert on the television, and deciding he had no expertise in his area, looked forward to where my brother was still storming on down the side of the motorway, twitching with every curse he muttered.

"Zack," he called. Zack turned, saw us standing still and jogged back to us.

"What is it?" he asked when he had reached us. I felt like the epitome of damsel in distress, and a failure to females everywhere, but I knew I was going to have to ask for some help from my brother. I felt embarrassed, and pretty much pathetic.

"I've twisted my ankle," I mumbled. "It hurts."

"Oh," he said in surprise. "Get on my back then. I'll carry you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course. But come on, it's getting dark …" I nodded, and once he had crouched down in front of me I somewhat awkwardly climbed onto his back, wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. I worried about the weight, and was about to protest and jump off again, but Zack straightened up and strode on easily. Cloud matched his pace, and they began to practically power walk down the motorway.

"Jeez, Tifa," he muttered. "Put some weight on. You feel way too light."

* * *

The rain continued to fall in sharp lashes that felt like slices from a knife. The motorway eventually petered out into normal country road, and then the road was reduced to a dirt track that led through the woods. I knew that on the other side of those woods was Gongaga, so as the boys began to trudge through the foliage, fallen branches and mud, I let myself relax, knowing we would be home soon. My feet throbbed in my shoes, my arms ached from holding on to Zack so tightly and my eyes were tired from trying to stay open. I knew Zack must have been exhausted – carrying your fifteen year old sister for two miles had to be pretty trying, no matter how strong you were, but every time I asked him if he needed me to get down, or Cloud offered to carry me and give my brother a break, Zack simply shook his head, trudging onward silently. For a long time, the only sound was his and Cloud's breathing – his slightly laboured, Cloud's easy.

The rain couldn't touch us much whilst we were walking in the welcoming shelter of the trees, so we revelled in the cool darkness the trees provided. When I looked up through the branches above us, I could see the moon, a brand new sliver that was slowly waxing.

"What time is it?" I asked. It was definitely night time by now. The stars twinkled weakly at us through the trees, letting us know that we were definitely in the country and on the rural road now. I wondered if there were stars in Midgar. Well, of course there were stars, but I couldn't help wondering if they were visible. I wondered if Zack had missed the stars when he was there. Maybe that was one of the reasons he came home.

"Late," Cloud mumbled, his illuminated phone screen strangely alien-like in the darkness of the night and the forest.

"Aerith will be worried," Zack muttered. That seemed to be some sort of resolve for him, and I could feel him pushing harder, desperate to get home to her. I didn't blame him. In fact, I kind of wished I had someone like he had to want to get home to. All I was gonna have waiting for me was a sleeping father and a pile of old books, asking to be read. And a warm, inviting bed, of course. Sleep was most definitely beckoning me now.

The trees gave out, the branches, moss and mud became a simple dirt track, and houses were visible. I could see the old reactor, the mountain we had climbed so many times, and the pub which was teaming with life as per usual. If this had been any other night, I would have happily wagered all of my money in my bank account that Zack would have been in there, happily drinking whiskey and entertaining the crowd with his amusing stories and jokes. Right now, the happy, jolly entertainer that liked his whiskey aged and neat was finally stumbling with fatigue, his shoulders slumped and his breathing slow. We made our way past the pub towards our house, which had only two windows illuminated, and were just stumbling up the front path, past the motorcycle and battered car, when we heard her.

"_Tifa!_"

Zack turned, and put me down on the ground. My feet and ankle flared up immediately with the contact, and I gratefully kicked the shoes that had tortured me all day long off. I picked them up in my hand, revelling in the coolness of the stony path beneath my sore, blistered feet, and looked up to see Yuffie, still wearing the same outfit as earlier, but her hair was mussed and her sunglasses were nowhere to be seen. I briefly wondered if her hair was messy because she had been running her fingers through it in worry about us, and then almost snorted aloud at my own stupidity. This was Yuffie. She didn't worry about others. She always looked out for number one. Number one was, of course, Yuffie Kisaragi. Not Tifa Fair.

"Tifa, I'm … I'm so sorry." She stumbled forwards, leaving the inviting and warm looking glow that had spilled out from the doorway to the pub and venturing tentatively towards me and into the darkness that was reality, which nearly swallowed her up.

"I just needed a lift home … and I guess I'd had too much to drink, so my judgment was impaired … is that the saying? But I'm sorry, really …"

"It's been raining. It took us two hours to get here. Zack had to carry me."

"I know, and I wish now that I had stayed with you, I've been feeling so guilty …" For a moment, I thought she was being completely sincere, and I was surprised. I wondered if she had changed a bit since I had gone on holiday, and I felt happy, I understood, I felt ready to forgive her…but then, true to her style, she pulled out a sentence that was so unbelievably Yuffie that I almost slapped my forehead in my irritation.

"But you know … you kinda brought it on yourself … Loz wasn't really doing anything wrong … you should have just stayed where you were. And that Cloud guy didn't really make things better by punching him …" I groaned inwardly. I gave up. I was too tired for an argument.

"Yeah … I guess you're right. Well, gotta go to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Right … I'm glad you're okay though. Sleep well." She stepped forward and hugged me tightly, and I breathed in her familiar scent of cigarettes, rum and coke.

I turned, and went into the house, fatigue almost forcing me to lie down and sleep on the doorstep. With a huge effort, I stepped over the threshold, and was immediately wrapped up in the rose scented embrace of Aerith.

"Are you okay? I've been so worried …"

For the first time that day, I managed to smile weakly. So someone did care, then. I leant against her, for comfort and to keep me upright, please that Zack had brought this wonderful, caring girl into my life.

"I'm okay … Zack carried me home. What a hero, right?"

And with that, I broke away from her very comforting embrace, and wearily poked my head around the door of the kitchen. Zack and Cloud were already settling in, Zack pouring whiskey into two glasses and Cloud resting his chin on the palm of one hand, propped up by his elbow on the table. They looked completely exhausted. In fact, they looked just like I felt.

"Night," I murmured. "And, you know … thanks."

"No problem," they both mumbled in unison, taking a sip from their respective tumblers. "Sleep tight …"

I resignedly heaved myself up the stairs on my poor, blistered feet, bidding Aerith a final sleepy goodnight, which had a look of total relief painted over her delicate features, and stumbled into my room. I threw my shoes into the corner of the room, wishing never to see them again, and stripped down to my knickers, casting every other item of clothing to the floor. I pulled on the comfortingly familiar paisley pyjama bottoms, yanked a nice baggy t-shirt of Zack's over my head, and collapsed onto the bed, falling asleep instantly. I didn't even manage to get under the covers.

A few hours later, or so it felt, it could have been a few minutes or a huge amount of time later, I felt someone pulling the covers up over me, and a peck on my forehead. I felt the soft scratchiness of Zack's stubble, and managed to mumble a thank you.

"You're a good girl, Tifa," he whispered, and left the room. I thought of the excessive alcohol I had drunk, thought of the people I had hung around with and the places I had gone, the outfit I had worn and the money I had stolen from Dad and shamelessly spent, all in one day. I thought of all the stuff I had got up to that year, since Zack had moved to Midgar that he didn't know about, the stuff Yuffie and I had been doing in secret all these years, that he also didn't know about. I wished I could erase it all. And I wished with all my heart that I was a good girl, like Zack seemed to think.

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**Chibi: Thanks for reading. As usual, a review would be nice please!**


	4. Four

**Chibi: As always, please read and review. And enjoy. Unfortunately, the only people I own here are Mr. Fair and Mr. Strife. I don't know if I want to own them, they're kind of old…**

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**Four**

The next day I had to work. That is; doing the lunchtime shift at a local bar, Seventh Heaven, owned by friendly local Barret, juggling waitressing and looking after his seven year old daughter Marlene. I had worked there for about two years at that point, and I can't lie – I really enjoyed it. Work was a chance to get out of the house, away from the gloominess that had haunted our dwelling since _her_ death, away from Dad and his breath that permanently carried a tang of whiskey that grew and faded depending on his mood and the time of day, and finally, away from that bloody piano that beckoned me with its cool keys and still open music book.

Barret was a huge but kind hearted man, and I guess he looked to me as a sort of second daughter. And Marlene – well, Marlene was an angel; the most beautiful little girl who was content to simply sit and colour, or jabber away at the customers. So my work shift was always generally easy – we rarely got rough, trouble making customers during the day at Seventh Heaven (they tended to turn up just as my shift was ending). So that day, I guess I was expecting the same, fairly quiet and easy-going shift I had grown accustomed to over the years. I came in at ten, checked that everything was clean and tidy and ready for the customers and lunch, made sure the till was working well and full of money, and settled Marlene down with some wax crayons, paper and inspiration for a drawing in the form of a quick story about a dragon who was in love with a princess. With some time to spare before the customers arrived, I quickly vacuumed Barret's flat above the bar, as I knew he never really had time to do it himself. By eleven, our first customers had arrived, and I got down to work.

It was, in general, a fairly quiet shift. The genre of clientele the bar tended to attract during the day were couples (young and old), stressed looking parents with very young children, and then, well, anyone who didn't really want to cook lunch themselves. Which is why I was fairly surprised when, at around half past one when only two tables were occupied in the bar, a familiar looking blonde and an older man pushed open the door. Cloud and his father looked around shyly, before closing the door and moving swiftly to the bar, sitting down quietly on the high stools. I handed them menus.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Strife, Cloud," I greeted them. Cloud nodded shyly, and Mr. Strife gave me a small, wan smile.

"Afternoon, Tifa. What's good for lunch today?"

"Hmm…I guess I would recommend the steak and ale pie. Freshly baked this morning, and it comes with a side of steamed vegetables, all picked from Barret's garden."

Mr. Strife looked to his son, as if for approval, and Cloud nodded in agreement. They handed back the menus.

"We'll have two portions of that, then."

"Good choice. Anything to drink?"

"Two pints of bitter, please." I said nothing about Cloud, who I assumed was drinking underage – the legal age was eighteen, but pretty much everyone in Gongaga ignored it. Alcohol was a substance that was fairly easy to get a hold of in our area.

I sent the order through to the chef, Cid, an ex pilot who swore every other word but cooked good food, and pulled the two pints, setting them in front of Cloud and his father. Barret was chatting to some customers, so I checked on Marlene, who was sat up behind the bar, colouring the dragon she'd drawn a very vivid purple.

"Everything okay, sweetie?"

"Hmm…" she murmured, pressing down onto the paper, hard. She was going to tear through it and ruin the top of the bar soon. I gently slipped the story book underneath the sheet, and she continued to colour neatly, her tongue slipping out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. "Tifa?"

"Yes, Marlene?"

"Who's that man?" She pointed her purple crayon very obviously and ominously at Cloud, who noticed and blushed slightly at the attention, staring down at the surface of the bar, nodding silently to something his father was saying.

"That's Cloud, Marlene. He's Mr. Strife's son."

"Oh…" she mumbled, finishing her drawing with a flourish of orange crayon flame shooting from the dragon's wide open mouth.

"That's lovely, sweetheart."

"Really?"

"Of course, Marlene." She beamed. She gently shook the wax remnants from the crayons off of the paper and onto the bar top, and then resumed her staring at Cloud.

"Would Cloud like my drawing?"

"I'm … I'm not sure, Marlene. Why don't you go show it to him?" She nodded silently, and gathered up the story book and the rest of the crayons, hopping off of her bar stool.

A loud crash, a swear word and my name were bellowed from the kitchen. I slipped in and collected the two plates from Cid, who cussed again as he burnt his finger on the hot saucepan, and I brought the plates over to Cloud and his father, just as Marlene waved the drawing in Cloud's face.

"Look, Cloud, look! I drew a dragon!"

I heard myself giggle at the frightened look on Cloud's face, at Marlene's joy at thrusting the paper into his nose and Mr. Strife's slightly bemused expression as he watched the small scene play out before him, his fork stabbing a piece of steaming steak and gently pushing it into his mouth.

"That's lovely, Marlene," he said. "You did that all by yourself?"

"Yuh huh!" she exclaimed. "But Tifa read me the story!"

I felt a soft blush tint my cheeks as I saw Cloud's eyes flickered up from the wax drawing now held in his hands to me, and back again. Mr. Strife leant over Cloud slightly, looking intently at the vividly purple dragon that posed on the sheet before them.

"It's really wonderful. In fact, it's so wonderful that I think you should do another one."

"Really, Mr. Strife?"

"Yup."

That was the first word I'd heard out of Cloud since he had entered the bar. He put the drawing down, and picked up his fork, quietly eating his food and sipping his pint. He even ate silently. This was fine for Marlene though, apparently, as she hopped up onto the bar stool beside Cloud, spreading out a new sheet of paper, lining her crayons up neatly and precisely, before selecting a green one and beginning to draw.

I watched Cloud eat, drink and gaze at Marlene drawing for quite a while, just taking in his calm but slightly nervy demeanour and the content way in which Marlene drew. I guess it calmed me. Their quietness and grace made me relax, and for a few minutes I allowed myself to lean back against the counter, fold my arms and breathe softly.

At least, I did that until Barret sidled over, leant over the bar and murmured that table four wanted their bill.

"No time to make puppy eyes, sweetheart."

"Huh? What?"

"_What_, she says…"

"What are you talking about, Barret?"

"I'm talking about you mooning over blondie over there."

"I was not _mooning_!"

"Wide eyes, dopey grin – mooning."

"I -"

"- Go give table four their bill."

I made a small noise of exasperation at what I deemed silliness on Barret's behalf, and made my way over to table four, handing them their bill and chatting with them aimlessly. As I made small talk, Barret's comments still lingered in my mind. _Mooning_? Was I actually looking at Cloud in that way? I felt my cheeks heat up once more in embarrassment, glancing over at the stoic blonde still silently eating, nodding gently to Marlene's almost never ending jabber. Okay, yes, he was good looking. Very good looking, in fact. It was probably something to do with that creamy looking alabaster skin, the startling and always slightly nervous looking cerulean eyes, the way he spoke so softly…

I understood at that moment what Barret was on about – I _was_ mooning. I mentally shook myself, and sorted out table four's change. They left; I cleared the table and greeted new customers. The day went on.

When it happened the bar was empty, except for Cloud and his father. "It" was simple enough – I was collecting their plates and one of the knives slipped, and cut my hand. Cut it right down the centre. I felt only a sting of pain, but I was for some reason drawn to the vivid red streak, that looked like Marlene had dragged one of her crayons down the palm of my hand. I found myself staring at the vibrant scarlet, and the crimson drops that gently eased and squeezed themselves out of the slick and perfectly straight opening. _That blood is too bright to be real_, I found myself thinking. _That's the fake blood they use in cheap movies_.

"Ouch, Tifa, that looks nasty." I looked up into Mr. Strife's worried eyes. He looked so similar to Cloud, and was so damn…so…_rugged_, and _handsome_…it was like I was a little girl with a silly crush on a teacher or something. His eyes looked like they had been curved with a cookie cutter in the shape of an almond. I felt weird little jittery things jump about in my stomach, and I felt like I was going to be sick.

_Grow up_. That was the sentence that flittered through my mind.

_I'm fifteen. I already am grown up_.

"Here, maybe Barret can find you a plaster or something…"

I hated the way he was treating me like a child. My pathetic little school-girl crush swiftly crumbled, and the debris that littered my heart fired up into beads of annoyance.

_I'm not a child. I'm not a child._

"Tifa?"

"I'm not a-"

I stopped myself swiftly. There was a tiny stretch of silence, so short that you could have easily missed it.

Then Mr. Strife broke it quietly, his eyes lazily moving between my outstretched, fake-blood covered hand and my face, concern softly worrying his forehead and the corners of his almond-cutter eyes.

"You're not a what?"

"I-" I flushed, faltering harshly and clutching my wet hand with my other hand, unsure of where to look and what to do.

I panicked. I took the coward's way out.

"Nothing!" I cried stupidly, with too much enthusiasm, and turned swiftly on my heel, darting back into the kitchen as fast as my trembling legs would move me through the door that swung open easily. I heard it bash back and forth gently until it came to a stop, mimicking the manic pulsing of my heart, pumping too much blood much too quickly throughout the trembling vessel that was my humiliated body.

I steadied my breathing as rapidly as possible, before moving to the back of the kitchen, locating the first aid box in one of the cupboards and proceeding to wash my hand and plaster the cut.

"Everything alright there, Fair?" Cid grunted in my direction.

"Cut myself," I muttered.

"How bad? Lemme see," Cid moved forward, trying to take my hand, and I felt a wave of nausea pass over me. I wasn't a child. I didn't need help. My eyes weren't about to burst quite suddenly like weak dams into disgusting, wailing rivers over the slightest, almost painless infliction. I swallowed the bile that had mounted at the back of my throat.

"It's fine, really." I moved back to put myself out of his reach, and my elbow brushed against a hot pan on the stove. I yelped and jumped forward.

"Whoa, you okay?"

"I'm fine!" I all but shouted, moving in the opposite direction and falling heavily against another hot pan, this time bullets of pain firing up and down my other arm. I wrenched my arm away from the pain, feeling the tears I desperately wanted to repress springing as easily as a young animal to the surfaces of my eyes. My skin felt like fire, and ached dully and with lasting remembrance. I almost watched the scalded flesh twist and bubble into a raw and tender dome that made my entire arm throb, regardless of the tininess of the damage.

"Ow!" I practically wailed, clutching my arm with my bandaged hand, a dull ache in my other elbow from where it had collided with the first pan.

"Jesus, Tifa, what the hell? You need to sort that out quickly!" Cid started towards me again, and the nausea rose and almost crashed across my throat once more, and I leapt back for the second time.

"Stay away from me!" I shrieked. Cid looked confused, startled, and he held a ladle up in what seemed like surrender.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"What the _hell_ is going on in here?" Barret had stuck his head through the door, and he briefly took in the tableau that we had frozen into. He looked at the arm I clutched with concern, and the worry I saw there made the battering ram hammering against the dams that were my eyes collapse, and the broken pieces mingled with the rivers voyaging merrily over the banks of my cheeks as I choked on my own pathetic wails, sobbing away my defences.

"Christ," I heard Barret mutter, and I screwed my eyes up so I didn't have to see the horror on their faces. I felt hands pushing me towards the stairs that led into the flat, and I tremblingly climbed the stairs, slowly and with shaking precision, feeling pathetic and weak as a kitten.

The hands pushed me down into a chair, and my childish sobs began to reside as something cool was pressed against the burn on my arm. Soon I was just snivelling and hiccupping, my bandaged hand clenched and throbbing.

_So much for not being a child_.

"What the hell has gotten into you, Tifa?"

Barret. Of course, this was his flat after all. I kept my eyes screwed tightly shut, listening to his steady breathing as he did something to the welt on my arm. I saw myself as a six year old, sat on the kitchen table as she examined the minor scrape on my knee, and all the while I begged for a plaster. Plasters were a symbol of being grown up, of being tough. I felt her cool fingers wiping my knee with antiseptic that stung. _Sting is good_, she always said. _If it stings, that means it's getting better already_.

"It hurt."

"Obviously. Pretty nasty burn you got yourself here. But it's pretty unlike you to cry over this kind of thing, let alone shout loud enough to worry my customers out there. Sure, there's only two of them but hell, they were freaked out. I blame you if I lose their custom."

"Sorry." He breathed out heavily.

"Don't be. Not your fault you got hurt."

"I didn't need to shout."

"You can if it hurt."

"Right…"

"There. Done." I looked at my arm, which now had a greasy looking burn plaster sheltering the welt.

"Thank you."

"It's nothing. Why don't you go home now? I can finish everything up from here in time for dinner."

"You're sure?"

"Wouldn't say it if I wasn't; now would I?"

"Sorry."

"Stop apologising."

"Right, sorry."

He sighed heavily again. "I give up. Go home, girl."

* * *

"Tifa!" I turned to see Yuffie bounding up towards me, her hair a mess and her arms bruised.

"What's up with you?"

"Huh?"

"Your arms, they're all bruised…"

"Oh, it's nothing. Bit of an accident." She shook off my worry easily.

"What's happened to you?" She pointed to my arm, and then to my plastered hand. "You get in a fight with Barret or something?" She laughed loudly, almost too loudly, at her own joke, having to clutch her knees to support herself.

"No, I…just an accident. Like you."

"Guess we should stop being so clumsy, huh?"

I found myself grinning softly. "Guess so."

"Listen, I…I still feel really bad about all that stuff yesterday. You know, getting you in trouble with Zack for being drunk and all…"

Strange how much hung in that phrase: _and all_. Did she realise she had missed out the fact that I had basically been forced into a truck driven by a drugged up idiot, who ended up crashing the damn thing, practically got molested and was then forced to trudge home in the cold and rain? Or was she trying to whitewash over it all, and forget it all happened? If I was being honest with myself, I would have said that I wanted to forget about the events of that day too. So I guess I appreciated what she was doing.

"Oh…it's okay."

"No, it's not. I got you drunk, and you got in trouble for it. So, to make up for it, how's about I take you out for a drink tonight? Just you and me, no idiots involved?"

"You're trying to make it up to me for getting me drunk by taking me out and most likely getting me drunk again?"

"You know how I roll, girl." I sighed.

"Fine. Okay. Just one drink though, and no idiots. Promise?"

"Promise!"

* * *

Of course there were idiots. This was Yuffie we were talking about here. I was dim to have trusted her. I shouldn't have been in the least bit surprised when I found myself wedged into a booth between Kadaj and Yazoo, Yuffie perched on Kadaj's lap and Yazoo sulking like a little boy, because I had slapped his hands away from where they were trying to paw me under the table.

"An' then I said, _no_, man, _you're_ the drunken idiot, coz you're drinking out of an _empty_ glass!" Kadaj threw his head back, onto the top of the seats, laughing drunkenly and raucously. "An' then I punched him."

"Wow, aren't you the big man?" I muttered under my breath, duly sipping my drink.

"What choo say?" He reared his head round to stare at me, his eyes ugly with intoxication.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

"Thas' right." His hand rested on my leg. It was only then that I regretted wearing the short skirt I was wearing.

"Ya know, we can forget all about yesterday…" he slurred. His breath was hot and sticky across my face. "I love your brother man…hell, I might even love you, if we were to get to know each other better…" he leered at my waveringly, his grin tired and pointless. "Iss' just that Strife boy…"

"Listen, I gotta go, yeah?" I got up quickly, before anyone could say anything, and pushed past Yazoo. I got down from the booth and quickly exited the bar. My burn throbbed beneath the sleeve of my cardigan.

* * *

"Have you been drinking?"

"No."

"Then where have you been?"

"Out."

"Tifa, I really don't appreciate this sullen attitude. You're acting like a child."

I sighed. "Can I please just go to my room?"

"No! I am your father, Tifa Fair, and don't you forget it. You're fifteen. You're nowhere near old enough to be going out drinking without my consent."

"I'm fifteen, I'm an adult! Why do you care so much anyway?"

"Why do I care?" The tang of whiskey was strong tonight. Forget tang; the flavour hit me dead straight in the face. "I care because I am _your father_!"

"Maybe if you started to _act_ like one once in a while…"

"Why, you-"

"Dad."

"Huh?" he swivelled round, seeing Zack leaning on the frame of the kitchen door. "What?"

"Can I borrow Tifa, please?"

Dad scowled, but relented. "Fine," he muttered, turning back to me. "But this conversation is by no means over, young lady!"

"Fine," I mumbled, pushing past him and following Zack towards the kitchen.

"Have you been drinking?" he whispered in my ear.

"No," I hissed back. Somehow lying to Zack felt very easy. "What did you want anyway?"

"Nothing, just thought I'd get you out of the line of fire."

"Well, thanks, I guess…"

Cloud was in the kitchen, and Aerith too. He was sat up on the kitchen table, one eye darkened and a big cut down one cheek. Aerith was gently dabbing at the cut with some kind of antiseptic. I wondered if it stung like it had done earlier for me.

"What happened here?" I heard myself asking. I dropped down heavily into a chair in front of a table.

"Cloud ran into Loz on his way here. Not too pretty, considering what happened yesterday."

"Oh." Cloud winced. I guessed the antiseptic had started to sting. Aerith held his head still as she cleaned the cut. "Are you okay?" I asked.

He nodded. "I'm fine, just a few cuts and bruises." He looked right up at me. "What about you? Today, at lunch…"

"Oh, don't worry about me, I'm fine!" I waved my plastered hand gaily at him, and he nodded stiffly. "The burn is tiny too…"

"What burn?" Aerith and Zack spoke in unison, and it irked me out slightly. I faltered, but regained my ability to speak fairly swiftly.

"I knocked my arm against a hot pan at work. Barret sorted it out for me, I'm fine, really." Aerith frowned.

"Can I at least see it?" I bit my lip, then slipped my arms out of my cardigan.

"Ouch," Zack hissed. The burn plaster made the weal look grotesque, multiplied in size and with a severe change in colour. An angry, viciously red, almost purple welt glared up from my arm.

"It didn't hurt too bad."

Cloud caught my eye briefly. I thought I saw something there, like discomfort, and I thought he was going to mention that he had heard me cry, but he said nothing, just looked back down at the burn again, his eyes darkened and tired.

Aerith took off the burn plaster for me, cleaned up the wound some more and reapplied a new plaster. The antiseptic stung, almost as bad as Cloud's unreadable stare.

* * *

**Chibi: finished. Please review. Love you guys.**


	5. Five

**Chibi: Ah, Five.**

**The pairing of this story is Cloud&Tifa. Be not alarmed if it seems to be going in another direction.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Five**

If there was one thing that had been preying on my mind for the majority of my life, it was my virginity.

Virginity means different things to different people. It can mean chastity, or purity, self control. It can simply be something you want to be rid of. If you look the word up in a dictionary, you will most likely find a definition along these lines: _the state of being pure, unsullied, or untouched._

To me, virginity had always meant curiosity. When I was seven years old, most likely not long after he himself found out about it, Zack sat me down in my room and explained to me the mystery of my creation. Like many young children, I was fascinated. I know of many people who, upon the veil of mystery being lifted from sex, were disgusted and horrified, but I was simply curious. In fact, it sounded like good fun. It was new, thrilling, and unchartered territory. Not even Zack had experienced it, and he was over three years older than me.

I managed to keep my curiosity quiet for a while, around a year, perhaps, but on hearing the word "condom" in a song Zack had brought home from the school playground, I asked my mother what this item related to sex was. It was my eighth Christmas. I remember very clearly her face, a mask of pure shock, and saw the knife which she had been using to cut the ham shake in her hand. We had guests round for dinner that Christmas, and the silence that enveloped the table, no, the entire _room_, was ironically deafening. It was broken by a snigger from Zack, who was shaking with stifled laughter, and my father gently told me that we'd "talk about it later".

When we were fourteen years old, as I have already said, Yuffie lost her virginity to Reno. That day when she bounded into school, her face glowing with excitement and pride, my world was divided suddenly. I began to split people into two groups: those who had lost their virginity, and those who hadn't. In my opinion, those who had lost their virginity were of an elite club, and were more knowledgeable about the ways of the world. I longed to rise from my social sphere branded _chaste_, and experience this activity that people seemed to rave about.

There's a story, a fairytale, that my mother used to read to me from her enormous, beautifully illustrated book that _her_ mother had passed down to her. You've probably heard of it. In the book my family had, it was called "_The Princess' Golden Ball_". This story involved a princess, the youngest of all her siblings and her father's favourite, who owned a very precious golden ball. The illustration of the ball was one of an ethereal, shimmering sphere that the princess held tight in her creamy, unlined hand. One day, playing outside by the pond, she tripped, and the ball slipped out of her hands and down into the dank, dark depths of the pond. After weeping very girlishly for a while, the princess was joined on the rock she was sat upon by a fat, ugly frog, who promised to fetch the ball for her if she would bestow on him a kiss. To my horror, the princess tricked him by agreeing to the bargain, taking the ball once he had retrieved it and running back to the castle, leaving the poor frog with his lips puckered and ready.

Of course, the frog was not about to let the princess get away with this trickery, and so the frog hopped to the palace doors at nightfall, when everyone was enjoying a big meal, and demanded to speak to the king. He told the princess' father of her trickery and, needless to say, the king was exceedingly disappointed. He commanded the princess to fulfil her side of the bargain, and so, in front of the entire court, her family and friends, the princess was reduced to picking the frog up off of the floor, and kissing his warty, slimy cheek.

Magically, there was a blinding flash of light, and when everyone could see again, they saw a handsome prince standing in the place of the frog. Rather disappointingly, in my opinion, the prince did not scorn the princess for judging him by his appearance, but returned the love she felt, and they married and lived happily ever after, with the princess vowing to never judge someone by their appearance ever again.

In truth, I found this story a bit wet. The princess sounded like your average, damsel-in-distress, pathetic screaming girl, but I connected with this story. Firstly, the king's disappointment in his daughter, and the humiliation he subjected her to, was something I knew I would find if my father ever discovered I had lost my virginity. But I knew I wouldn't just find it in my father, but also in Zack, my mother's memory after she had passed, and in myself. Disappointment was something I feared greatly, and I knew that if I had done as Yuffie had done, and lost my virginity at the tender age of thirteen, I would live with that regret and disappointment for the rest of my life. I have a tendency to care what other people think of me, and although many people will tell you in your life that others' opinion of you is meaningless, it _does _mean something, and can affect you and your life's course in so many different ways.

The second point of connection I shared with this story was the ball. It looked so precious, so beautiful, that the act of the princess losing it to the pond made me sad. One of the illustrations from the book has always stuck in my mind, and it was one that depicted the princess losing her precious ball. It was slipping just out of her reach, just gracing her fingertips, and she looked upset and frightened.

That picture meant virginity to me. I guess it's ironic, as it's a picture from a child's storybook, carrying an important moral message. But since my discovering of sex, and the reading of the story, my short, chubby fingers tracing the glittering fragility that was the princess' greatest and most loved possession; I always saw that golden sphere as virginity, and the sad, frightened princess as the girl who lost it too early.

Of course, I wasn't about to tell Yuffie that. To her, virginity was just another milestone to pass on the journey to becoming an adult as fast as possible, whilst having as much fun as she could along the way. So for the next two years of my life, my best friend niggled and whined at me to rid myself of my own symbol of childishness.

"I want to be able to talk about sex with someone," she would moan. "It's really not that big a deal. It doesn't even hurt much. Just do it, come on."

I would be lying until my tongue turned black if I claimed I wanted to save myself. My eagerness and curiosity had been conceived by Zack's sniggering, childish explanations, and later pushed further by Yuffie's elaborate (and most likely exaggerated) tales. I wanted to experience it myself.

Which is why, when Yuffie announced that she was hosting a house party that Friday night, whilst her parents were out of town visiting her grandmother, the first thought that squirmed into my head was not what I was going to wear, or if I would wear my hair up or down, but if this would finally be my chance to lose my virginity to a suitable boy of my choice.

* * *

We were all invited – Zack, Aerith, myself…even Cloud. Kadaj and his friends had some "business" to attend to, as Yuffie put it, so it was okay for Cloud to be present without a fight erupting. I knew immediately that the party was going to be, in a word, _messy_, as Yuffie's house parties always were, but I wanted to have some fun for the weekend, after the stresses of the last few days. So, instead of declining Yuffie's texted invite, I replied with a _See you there_,checked with the others that they were up for going, and jumped into the shower before anyone else could get in there and use up the hot water.

I like parties. I know everyone does, and normally I am the shy sort of person who would be reluctant to get involved in that kind of scene, but when you have a friend like Yuffie, who adores music and dancing, drinking and kissing and more; or a brother like Zack, famous for the incredible amount of alcohol he could ingest and his notorious, raucous behaviour, you tended to just go along with what they did. I tried so often in my younger years to mimic them, which usually ended up with me vomiting into someone's toilet, whilst one of them held my hair.

But believe it or not, I enjoy the general atmosphere that parties tend to have, the way that anything goes, the drunken conversations and antics, the way you can just stand amid a hundred dancing, gyrating and sweat drenched people, and stare at the ceiling, whilst everyone moves around you in almost perfect synchronicity, moving like the tide and pulling you in deeper to its loud and heated depths.

I decided to go on ahead to the party alone. Call me shallow, but it can sometimes be a bit awkward turning up to a party with your brother, especially if he arrives with his girlfriend who is a thousand times prettier than you, and his handsome friend that makes you blush every time you go near him, regardless of how well you know him. I stepped out of the front door into the crisp, evening air and I guess there was something in that air, because even though it was a mild evening and it was only seven o'clock, I felt cold. Not _cold_ cold, but cool enough for goosebumps to prickle on my arms and legs. I paused, closing the door gently and stepping slowly off the porch in my jewelled sandals. The wind passed. I shrugged on my cream cardigan over my soft blue dress and made my way to Yuffie's house.

The party was exactly as I had predicted. It _was_ messy. Upon stepping through the front door, I could see vomit, empty and half full discarded bottles, people kissing, people unconscious, mad, manic dancing, broken glass, open CD cases, overflowing ashtrays, cigarette ash that missed the dish and had landed on the cream carpet, mobile phones scattered across various surfaces…I stood shocked for a moment, until I felt Yuffie's skinny arms wrapping tightly around my neck, and the push of a glass into my hand.

"Mojito," she shouted over the noise. "Made it especially for you. I put in a special ingredient." She winked, and then sauntered off with a tray of shot glasses filled with a sickly looking green spirit that seemed suspiciously like absinthe to me. She disappeared into the throng of people that were moving violently and drunkenly in the lounge.

It was exactly what you would expect a teenaged house party to be like, minus a swimming pool and plus more sex than you could imagine. I found myself tripping over numerous pairs of shoes, a girl I didn't know on all fours vomiting into a wastepaper bin, staggering through the multitudes, desperately seeking someone I knew, could sit and talk to at least …

I stumbled over another pair of shoes, and landed on a leather sofa beside Cissnei, a pretty girl I knew from school. She was a few years older than me but she seemed to be on a similar wave length to me. I stayed on the sofa with her for a while; sipping my Mojito (my guess was that the secret ingredient was an egg cup of a salt), and when that was finished we did some shots together, chatting and laughing about anything that took our fancy, and as the alcohol released itself into our veins more rapidly, the more we laughed, long and high, and the less we talked. We danced together with a strange, almost animalistic intoxication, and dropped to the floor together with giggles and a seemingly endless tolerance of pain. My hand landed on some broken glass and I simply stared at it, and then showed it to Cissnei, who hugged me, laughing loudly and girlishly the whole time.

This was generally how Yuffie's parties spanned – everyone got drunk and no one really knew what was happening, or what anyone else was doing. At one point I heard someone shout: "Yo, Zack! Over here man!" I only caught a glimpse of my brother. I was stretched across Cissnei and Reno, who appeared to have taken the train back from Midgar, on the sofa, and Zack simply nodded his head at me. I smiled and gulped down part of my drink. It was easier to do that.

I felt the urge, for some strange reason, to go to the kitchen, and dragged Reno with me. I stumbled, for what felt like the tenth time that night, over something – I was too drunk at that point to know what it was I had tripped over – and as the ground neared my face, I felt Reno's arms around my waist, hauling me upright.

"Here we go, gorgeous," he chuckled, and I found myself face to face with his loose white shirt.

"Oops," I managed to giggle weakly, looking up at his face. "Bad times."

"Not so much," he grinned. He leant forward and kissed me softly. "It means I can do that."

"Reno," I tittered. "Zack's here! He can't see me kissing you!"

"Well then, we'll just have to go somewhere more private."

It seemed very natural to hold his hand and follow him up the stairs, past the smiling and crying eyes and into one of the bedrooms. It seemed even easier to simply fall onto the bed with Reno, allowing his lips to cover mine and his kisses to make my limbs move to accommodate his, to place my arms around his neck and feel his lips and teeth at my own. I made sounds that had never stumbled clumsily past my now bruised lips before, I wound myself around him in a way that I would never have done without the confidence that I had poured down my throat little under an hour ago.

His hands did not feel like they were marking me, as you would normally read in a scene of passion between a boy and a girl. He didn't feel slimy and perverse. Nor did his fingers feel like ice, or fire, or any other element you would want to throw into that recipe. It simply felt incredibly natural. It was like when you have your first kiss, and you don't really think about anything except the now – you do what feels right and if it feels wrong you stop. We didn't stop because it felt wrong. We didn't stop.

We would have done it, that is for sure. We talked about it, as we lay; our flesh pressed together, our lips occasionally bumping. My dress was stuck underneath his back – I could see the flash of blue clashing with his creamy white.

"Are you sure? You don't wanna, you know, wait?"

"I don't know. I guess I kind of do and kind of don't."

"Then…what?"

"Do you have anything?"

"Yeah…" he found his jeans, and burrowed in the pockets, finally extracting the little package.

"Then let's."

Even as we moved together, my father entered my mind. I thought back to the conversation we had had earlier that day, when he called me into the study, and sort of apologised to me for his behaviour the previous night.

"Look, Tifa, I'm sorry I got so cross. But you need to understand that you're too young to be going out and drinking all the time. You're just a child." I had bitten my tongue at that point just to keep myself quiet. I was ready to burst out with my favourite line of _I'm not a child!_ Somehow I kept quiet. I simply nodded.

"Just promise me you'll be good at this party, Tifa?"

His lips were on mine again, and my limbs once again shifted to aid him. I felt him kiss my throat, and I braced myself, knowing the sharpness that was surely about to follow.

Of course, it didn't, because that just wouldn't be exciting enough for fate. The door opened.

"Oh my … shit. Tifa?"

"Zack?"

"_Reno?_"

"What the – get out!"

"Hey, hey, you _gotta_ see this!"

"Zack, I don't think that's a very good idea, sweetheart…"

"Aw, but Aerith, this is so funny! Does anyone have a camera?"

"Zack, come on! Leave me alone!" He kept laughing. I swear his eyes were watering. I yanked my dress on as quickly as possible, and winced when I heard a sharp rip.

"Hey, Zack, I think I'm gonna take off – whoa."

"No, Cloudy, you can't go! Look, the party's only just getting started!" He pointed and roared with laughter. I felt the sting of tears breaching my eyelids and I zipped myself up shortly, grabbing my shoes and moving from the room as fast as my still intoxicated legs would take me.

"Hey, Teef, it was just a joke-"

"Just leave me alone!" I felt soft hands gently grabbing my arm, but when I saw Aerith's delicate fingers I just pulled away, walked straight into Cloud whose face was simply unreadable, and just walked away.

Walking away from a situation allows you to mull things over. As I pushed through the mass of bodies that never seemed to disperse, I thought about it, hating Zack's laughing face, Aerith's concerned face, Reno's guilty, sheepish face, Cloud's unreadable face…

I walked.

I locked myself in the toilet, feeling bitterness swell and die repeatedly inside of me. Any tears would have helped, I knew, but my body seemed to have dehydrated itself of tears in the past few days. I hung my head, my elbows resting on my knees at all the wrong, inebriated angles. I choked on my anger and embarrassment, squeezing my eyes tightly but the only reward was a strangled sob that ripped itself from my throat.

After some time I clambered off of the cold porcelain, and checked my face in the gilded mirror hanging over the sink. My cheeks were a bit red, my eyes a bit sad, but apart from that, my make up was fairly intact. I rubbed away some smudged shadow from the corner of one of my eyes, and then straightened my dress, fixed my hair and left the room.

All I really wanted to do was find somewhere to sit down, away from the noise and candour of the party, and simply mull over my thoughts. Maybe feel a bit sorry for myself. Cissnei waved at me from Reno's lap, her lips swollen. He nodded at me duly.

I found a white door and turned the handle. There didn't seem to be any sound coming from there but I've learnt that you can never really know. I pushed open the door, and found the dark coolness of Yuffie's father's study. It was seemingly empty, except for the full bookcases that lined the walls, a rug that stretched out from the door to the huge mahogany desk at the other end of the room, and the black leather swivel chair.

Like I said, you can never really know.

I felt my hopes break with a swearword and a guttural oath.

"Shit."

"Huh?"

The eyes that looked at me through the gloom were uncomfortably familiar, and the glint of blonde that flashed in the moonlight that was filtering through the naked window was suspicious.

I flicked on the light switch, and immediately wished I hadn't.

"Yuffie?"

"Tifa, you can't say anything, he'll kill us both, you know he will."

Her neck was bruised, her hair a mess, her top askew.

"What?"

"I know he's not here, but you can't say anything, not to Kadaj-"

"What's going on?" Her lips trembled with guilt.

"Cloud…he was just sad…I was just trying to make him feel better…" He looked at me from the desk chair, as she clambered out of his lap, fixing herself. I don't know what was more saddening – the sight that had met me when I had turned on the lights or the complete impassiveness of the mask he wore.

"Tifa…" I don't know which one of them said it but it made me ache. I turned on my heel and left. I was hoping to leave alone, so that I could go and further wallow in my own self misery, but Yuffie dashed across the room and halted my journey.

"Look, you really can't tell Kadaj, he will be so mad-"

"Yuffie, I don't think I can talk to you right now."

"Why? What's wrong? Did someone say something mean?"

"Can't you tell?" I heard myself shout. Cloud looked at me and I could almost see some sort of disappointed sadness.

"Tell what? Tifa, you're gonna have to tell me what the problem is. But first, seriously, you _cannot_tell Kadaj, okay?"

I sighed and pulled myself away from her. I shut the door behind me, and moved through the now slowly thinning crowd.

_Yes_, I thought. _This is the now_.

I found myself outside. I sat on the kerb of the pavement, my elbows falling clumsily and ungracefully on my knees again. My head hung once more, my hair fell in front of my face. The bitterness reared once more and the tears fought for release but somehow I managed to prevent my eyes from granting my escape this freedom.

The weather was nothing. It wasn't rainy or warm now. It just was.

I still had my bejewelled sandals in my hand, and I pulled them on, painstakingly tying every buckle, my anguish hissing with frustration inside of me.

I sat there feeling incredibly sorry for myself, holding myself and feeling the astringent taste in my mouth sting. Why was I so upset?

Did I…did I like him?

I sighed in the frustration of not knowing. Even as I sat there, I felt him stand behind me, and then finally sit down on my right. He held a bottle of something in his hand, and every now and then he drank from it.

"So," he murmured. "What's up?"

"My brother saw me in bed with a nineteen year old boy. I walked in on my best friend with you. I don't know what's up at the moment. Not up, not down."

I couldn't see him, only the tarmac, but I knew he was nodding in understanding of my confusion.

"If you use the words _emotional rollercoaster_ I'll hate you."

"Understood."

I think what made me feel the most ashamed was what Cloud must think of me. He barely knew me, and his first impression of me was surely one of an overly emotional, bratty girl who drank too much and made a fool of herself in public. I didn't blame him. Look at who I hung out with – a known sleazebag, who was possibly some kind of sexual predator (if the rumours proved correct), a girl whose reputation of Easy had led her into his lap and a group of people with similar reputations and got up to similar antics.

What must he think of me?

"Listen…about me and Reno-"

"-It's none of my business." I nodded.

"Okay."

"Me and Yuffie-"

"None of _my_ business, Cloud."

"But it is. I can't really ask you for this, but…for your friend's sake. I strongly recommend you don't tell Kadaj."

I felt the first true smile of the evening, not fuelled by alcohol or the desire to have a good time, but merely by him.

"I won't tell him. But not for her…for you, Cloud."

"What do you mean?"

"If he finds out, he'll kill you, Cloud, he really will. I'm not exaggerating, he'll hurt you."

He shook his head. "I can take care of myself."

"You can't mess with Kadaj, Cloud. Honestly. I know he's Zack's best friend, but…you have to know, he'll kill you if he finds out."

There was a silence, and the two of us sat staring at the pavement for a while.

He broke it. "Tifa, about Reno … just don't worry about it. That kind of thing happens to the best of us."

"I know. Thank you."

"You're welcome." The silence continued, and then I turned and hugged him. I felt his chin on my shoulder and his arms around my back, and I softened into his touch. He was warm when everything out here was cool.

When we went back inside it was around four o'clock. The party was about winding down at that point, with people moving around trying to find somewhere to sleep. I found a sofa and settled down to sleep, pulling a blanket over me and using a pillow as a cushion. When I woke up a few hours later, he was still asleep but my head was resting on his shoulder, his on top of mine.

A few hours later, as the sun was bursting over the mountain our village stood in the shadow of; Cloud and I were rejoined by Zack and Aerith. We walked home along the dirt track, feeling the rays pricking our tired, tender skin, our heads full of thoughts and mugginess.

Somewhere, greeting the morning, a cockerel crowed, and I thought to myself: _That is for betrayal._

I thought of Kadaj. Of Yuffie and Cloud, and the compromising position I had found them in.

If that is for betrayal, who was the traitor?

Who would the traitor be?

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**Chibi: Hope you enjoyed. Some edits made 28/9/2011. I like reviews! Thank you or reading.**


	6. Six

**Chibi: Okay, so this chapter is long overdue. I hope you like it though! It took a long time and lots of tweaking. Pleeeeease revieeeeeeewwwwwww. Enjoy!**

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**Six**

A few days after the party I walked in on my brother in the bathroom. He wasn't naked or anything. Well, completely naked. He was sat on the toilet, on the lid, in his boxers, and he had his head in his hands. His fingers were clutching at the dark strands at his hairline and he looked up startled.

"Oh," he murmured. He stood up and walked stiffly out the door, and I felt my face grow warm with the embarrassment of seeing him semi-naked. He shut the door roughly behind him, and then I was alone. I stared at myself in the mirror, stood in my ratty pyjama shorts and my father's oversized t-shirt, my hair long and in need of a trim, messily strewn across my shoulders. I looked pale and ill, my eyes held up by dark smears. I shook my head at myself and turned the shower on, pulling the t-shirt over my head and dropping it on the floor. The door was suddenly thrown open.

"Are you still not talking to me?"

"Zack get out!" I snatched the t-shirt up from the floor and held it in front of me, my face even warmer than before. My legs shook with shock and embarrassment. "Have you never heard of knocking?"

He seemed oblivious to my screeches, and was only seeking out one response from me. "I don't get it! You haven't spoken to me in days! I mean, what could I have done?"

I almost dropped the t-shirt in surprise. He couldn't possibly be _that_ oblivious, could he?

"What do you mean? Surely you know?"

Zack spluttered. "N-no! I don't! Why do you think I'm asking?"

I sat down on the edge of the bath, still clutching my top to me. I stared hard at him.

"Do you remember Yuffie's party?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember going upstairs?"

"Yes, yes!" He snapped irritably.

"Well, do you also remember walking in on me and Reno and then humiliating me in front of loads of people?"

Zack bit his lip, out of what I thought was guilt, but then realised he was trying to hold back the words he desperately wanted to blurt out. It didn't do much good though – all too soon his true thoughts came tumbling out of his mouth.

"What did you think you were doing Tifa? You're fifteen! You're too young for, for _that_! Plus Reno's one of my friends and is nineteen!"

"It's none of your business, Zack." He eyes shone dangerously, and suddenly, as he darted forward, I truly felt vulnerable, sat on the edge of the cold bath tub and only partly dressed. He grabbed my shoulders and I flinched at his touched, pulling away and losing my balance. I fell backwards into the bath and into the stream of still warming up water. Zack moved backwards, and seemed to shake himself.

"It is my business, Tifa," he murmured. "You shouldn't be around someone like him. You shouldn't be a part of that crowd."

"Then why are you?"

"I ... " He looked like he didn't know what to say. He scratched the back of his head and looked sheepish. "I don't know ... "

He shook his head and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

After a few minutes I got out of the bath, undressed fully and climbed back in, trying to push what had happened to the back of my mind.

I decided I wanted to go for a run. Forgetting I had just showered and cleaned myself, I pulled on my exercise shorts and sports bra, laced up my trainers and plugged in my iPod. As I headed out the door, Dad came out of his study and his lips moved but I pretended I hadn't heard him and shut the door behind me. I wanted to be alone, alone with my thoughts; I guess you could say, so I could dwell on Zack's words and the other thing that was preying on my mind. I wasn't exactly ignoring Zack. I was still quite angry with him for how he'd humiliated me that night, but it was the image of Yuffie perched on Cloud's lap that had kept me quiet for nearly three days. The startled look in her eyes, but no shadow of guilt, and the husky lust that lingered in his, and his flushed cheeks. He'd wanted her ... I knew he'd wanted her. And why wouldn't he? She was beautiful, with a shapely body and such experience that she exuded confidence and pleasure. Who wouldn't want her? I crinkled my nose and shook my head, pushing myself up the hill.

It was a crisp day, but fairly sunny. The air wasn't particularly warm, though, and bit painfully at my skin as I scaled the rocks and streams towards the top of the hill. And yet I was sweating furiously, feeling the salt course down my face and cutting through the dirt that had been thrown up by my feet pounding the dusty earth. I was thankful I'd tied my hair up, feeling the ponytail beating the back of my neck. I pushed a stray lock out of my face and found the path less steep.

When I found myself at the top, I paused for breath briefly and changed the song on my iPod. Nothing seemed to match my mood – every song was either too happy or too sad. Nothing sat in the middle. I remembered that Yuffie had loaded all the songs onto it and turned it off in annoyance.

"Oh ... hello."

I glanced up from my hands, and saw a figure stood ahead of me, the sun directly behind them and shining into my eyes. I could only see the outline ... someone taller than me. I pulled back, fearing it was Kadaj again, but then I realised their voice was too soft spoken for the Kadaj's sharp sarcasm. I shaded my eyes, peering at them.

"Cloud?" I stepped forward and the sun shone over me, over the top of my head, and I saw his sky blue, almond cutter eyes, and his soft blonde hair. His face was, as usual, unreadable, except for his eyes. They looked pained. I felt my face flush, again, when I realised he was shirtless, wearing just a pair of knee length shorts. I couldn't think why he would be up here, on the top of the hill, shirtless.

"What are you doing here, Cloud?"

"I ... I was sleeping."

"Up here?"

"Well ... I wanted to enjoy the sun."

I smiled. "Not exactly that warm though, Cloud."

"I guess ..." He looked embarrassed, and unsure of what to do. He scratched the back of his head, almost mirroring Zack's earlier pose in the bathroom, his cheeks a little red. He reached down and scooped up an old checked shirt, which he had evidently been using as a rug, and hastily pulled it on. He only did up a few buttons, though, the lower ones, and for some reason I felt the need to note that the shirt was still hanging open, with one side of his chest and a nipple on display. Why was I noticing that? I looked away, feeling pathetic. It wasn't as though I had never seen a boy's chest before. And it was as though his was particularly outstanding – he was slim, and toned, no doubt from all the gardening he was hired to do around the village.

I decided to break the ice, if you will, and sat down with my legs crossed near the edge of the hill. He followed suit and placed himself beside me, so close that I could feel the brushed cotton of his shirt graze my thigh. I looked up, at the sunny sky, staring intently at the shapes of the clouds above me. I had always done this. I managed to find the strangest shapes when I concentrated hard.

"So ... how are you, Cloud?"

He was silent, picking at a piece of skin next to a fingernail, and then shrugged softly. "Fine, I guess. You?"

"Fine ... I guess."

Silence again. There was a definite awkwardness between us, and I knew precisely why. It wasn't to do with Zack, or even what happened with Reno. It was about what I'd seen, between him and Yuffie. It didn't matter that he'd seen me, barely dressed, about to sleep with Reno, because we both knew that it was a silly school-girl mistake that I'd made due to pressure. It didn't mean anything. But what I'd seen, in Yuffie's father's study just a few nights ago, meant something. Perhaps not to Yuffie. Perhaps maybe not even to Cloud ... but it meant something to me. And he knew that it did. He was aware of this, understood what a wakeup call it was for me. I may have spent much of my time grouping the people I knew into the two categories of Virgin and Non-Virgin but it had never occurred to me to wander whether or not Cloud had slept with anyone. I didn't even really know how old he was. All I knew about him was that he was beautiful, came from Nibelheim and his parents were divorced. Or perhaps had never even married. Well, whatever. They weren't together. And he had appealed to Zack. That was all I knew about him, really.

I decided I wanted to know a little about him. "Cloud, how old are you?"

He looked surprised. "Eighteen."

It was my turn to be surprised. Eighteen? I had thought he was only a year or so older than myself. But he was around the same age as my brother. I supposed that I needn't have been surprised, seeing as he was friends with Zack. But it startled me somewhat. It made him seem somewhat out of reach. I wanted to know more though.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" He shook his head. "Have you ever had one?" He blushed a little.

"Um ... yes."

"How many?"

"Three."

"Really?"

"Why, Tifa?"

"I'm just curious!" I was sure he was nearly laughing, and I looked away, even more embarrassed. I stared at my legs, counting the goosebumps that had pricked up in a slight breeze. Three girlfriends? I had never even had a boyfriend. I'd done stuff with boys but I'd never had anything serious. But Cloud ... well, after three girlfriends, no doubt he'd slept with at least one of them. I was intending to keep quiet and mull these thoughts over but the words tripped out of my mouth, and then hung there in the air between us, Cloud's face a picture of shock.

"Did you sleep with them?"

After an agonising few minutes, where we sat side by side, staring at each other in disbelief and in absolute silence, he cleared his throat.

"Well, yes. But I didn't just sleep with them."

"You mean ... more than three?" I didn't want to ask, knowing the answer would both hurt and impress me, and he stared down at his fingers again.

He nodded. "Five, to be precise."

I thought about his body moving above a girl's. And then another girl ... and then I didn't want to think about it anymore. My thoughts drifted back to him and Yuffie, her top pulled down with her bra on show, her neck bruised ... I felt sick. I got up to leave.

"Tifa ... wait."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked so much ..."

He pulled on my wrist, and I sat back down again, hugging my knees to my chest. I rested my chin on the tops of my knees. Cloud sighed.

"I think I need to leave." He stood up, and I looked at his legs, below where his shorts ended. I looked at the curly blonde hair there. "See you."

He walked away, and as he did it started to rain. It started raining hard, drops that hurt when they hit my skin. I sat and shivered in the rain for a while, and then got up and started to run home, my iPod tucked safely away in the pocket of my shorts. I was running fast, trying to get home as quick as possible, as I was cold and getting wetter by the second, so I wasn't paying much attention to the terrain as my feet thundered down the hill. As I fantasised about a hot bath, my pyjamas and a film, I suddenly felt one of my feet fly out from underneath me as I hit a wet, slippery patch of mud. I slipped down onto my backside in the mud, and my leg smashed into a particularly large rock on the side of the path. I yelled in pain, as I finally came to a stop on my stomach, which, being bare thanks to my choosing to wear a sports bra, was now splattered in mud, as were my arms, legs and part of my face. I tried to stand but my feet kept slipping out from under me, and blood streamed steadily and painfully from the cut on my leg. I felt pathetic, rolling around in the mud as I tried to stand up.

I decided I would just sit and wait out the rain, and then try and make my way down the hill when the ground was less slippery. I stayed put, on my stomach, my fingers buried deep in the slimy wet mud. I forced back the tears that were threatening to slip out of my determined eyes thanks to the gash on my leg. The sky was dark, and the hill was dark with the clouds and the mud. I felt my ponytail trailing in the mud and felt my mouth form a pout of annoyance.

In the darkness that had gathered so quickly I saw a flash of light, and thinking it was lightning began to get even more anxious to get home – I had a huge fear of thunder and lightning. But the light wasn't going away and was getting closer – and that was when I realised it was hair. Blonde, messy hair that was somehow spikier in the storm. Cloud was heading back up the hill.

"Cloud! Cloud!" I waved desperately, hoping he would notice my sodden figure sprawled in the mud. I saw his eyes light up in the rain. "Over here!"

Soon he was standing over me, and then crouching down beside me.

"Tifa what happened? Are you okay?" He looked worried and I secretly I felt pleased, however shameless it may have been.

"I slipped in the mud, I've hurt my leg and I can't get up ..." As I spoke a huge roll of thunder shook the village. A crack of lightning shone across the sky. "... And as sad as it sounds I'm terrified of thunderstorms."

His face gave nothing away. He quickly placed his hands under my arms and pulled me upright, and then he helped me walk, supporting me as I limped. We were only halfway down the hill when he stopped.

"Come on. Let's go to my house."

"What? Why?"

"It's much closer than yours, and I want your leg sorted as soon as possible. Plus it's just over there," he pointed to some glimmering lights just on the other side of the hill.

"Fine fine, whatever you say." He helped me across the grass and rocks, and soon he was opening the front door. I was more than relieved to get out of the rain and into the house, but it wasn't particularly warm inside. Although the lights were on in the house, apparently no one was home.

"Dad?" Cloud called, pulling the door close behind us. "Dad, are you home?" There was no answer. I pushed off my trainers and he took me upstairs to the bathroom. "Bath or shower?"

"Bath, please." I gingerly stood in the centre of the room, trying not to drip mud. Cloud bent down and turned the taps, and as I watched the water filling up he got me a towel. He left the room to allow me to change and bathe in privacy, but as I climbed into the tub a huge bellow of thunder rocked the house. I whimpered, and washed myself as quickly as possible. There was a knock at the door.

"Tifa, are you okay in there?" His voice was soft in contrast to the thunder that was rattling the windows. "You said earlier you were scared of thunderstorms ..."

"I'm fine ... thank you."

"Tell me when you're done. I'm putting your clothes in the washing machine."

"My iPod's in the shorts!"

"Don't worry, I already got that."

I giggled to myself softly. After all my thoughts today ... and here I was, having a conversation with Cloud naked. Yes, he was on the other side of the door and I was in the bathtub, but still. Plus we were talking about things other than sex. Or rather, who he had slept with. I washed myself swiftly, trying to block out the thunder.

Soon I was sat with my legs crossed on Cloud's bed, wearing an old, baggy pair of his boxers (yes, my heart jumped slightly at the thought of my skin touching where his had before), and another old checked shirt that he had produced from his wardrobe. My hands were clasped around a mug of hot tea and Cloud was sat in an armchair by the window in a pair of tracksuit bottoms, watching the storm outside. My leg was bandaged. It felt perfect.

Cloud's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it.

"Yes, she's safe. We're at my house ... Really? Oh ... right. I'll get her home tomorrow then ... no worries. See you then." He ended the call. I looked at him quizzically. "That was Zack. He wanted to know if I'd seen you. He said the storm's too bad to go out for the rest of the day, and it will probably continue through the night, so he said it was best for you to sleep here."

"Right ... thank you."

"No problem."

He stared out the window again.

"Cloud ... why did you come back? Up the hill, I mean?" He didn't look away.

"I just wanted to check that you were okay. In the rain. And I'm glad I did, or no doubt you'd still be stuck up there."

I giggled. "I like to think that someone would have come looking for me at some point."

He turned, and gave me a small smile. I felt myself get even warmer.

"Do you want to watch a film or something?" He gestured to a small pile of DVDs that were stacked beside the television, which stood in front of his bed. I smiled.

"Sounds good."

We watched _The Shawshank Redemption_, and I was glad I'd seen it before, because soon my tea was finished, the mug put to the side, and my head on the pillow, my eyes closed.

I slept for eight hours, and when I woke up I was confused, because I was covered in a blanket and the room was dark. The luminous face of the clock on the bedside table read ten pm. When I swung my legs out the bed and my feet hit the floor I hissed at the cold floorboards. There was a pair of socks on the end of the bed and I pulled them onto my feet, ignoring the fact that they were some sizes too big. I padded out of his room and down the stairs, still limping slightly, and found Cloud in the living room, sat on the sofa, still wearing just the tracksuit bottoms, reading a book.

"Hey," He looked up.

"Hey," He stretched his arms out above his head, and looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. "How'd you sleep?"

"Great, thank you ... sorry for falling asleep in the film."

"That's okay." He patted the sofa beside him, and I shuffled over, sitting once more with my legs crossed. It seemed to be becoming a favourite position to sit in.

"What are you reading?" He handed me the book, folding down the corner of the page he was on. "Ah. _Mrs Dalloway_. Never had you down as a Virginia Woolf fan."

"It's Dad's ... he's got quite a collection of books really. I'm making it my mission to read all of them this summer."

I giggled and poked him with my foot. "Hey ... you hungry?"

"And by that I'm guessing you are?"

"Perhaps."

"I can offer you cereal or ice cream."

"I'm thinking ... ice cream." He got up and made his way to the kitchen. I picked up the book he'd left behind and began flicking through it. I'd never read it but had always aimed to ... it sounded like our father's were quite similar. Dad was always trying to get me to read his books, and normally I would, but I wouldn't really pick one from his collection myself. He had to almost physically hand me one on a plate before I picked it up and read it. I decided to remedy this as soon as I got home.

"Here you go," Cloud handed me the cold bowl and I began spooning the ice cream into my mouth immediately. "So ... another film?"

"...Sure. I'll try not to fall asleep this time."

He sat down beside me and handed me the remote.

"You know I wouldn't mind if you did ... I'd just ignore the snoring -"

"-CLOUD!" I poked him again with my foot. A small smile spread across his face again.

"Okay ... you only snored a little bit." I poked him again, sharply. "Not at all!"

I couldn't believe how easily we were getting along. Everything was going so nicely.

The cold, wetness of the ground, the dull ache in my leg, and ice that coursed through my veins and made me shiver with a tremor that was uncontrollable, reminded me that this wasn't real – this was fantasy, this was what _I_ wanted.

Don't get me wrong, up until when I fell, all of that happened. Zack walking in on me, my awkward conversation with Cloud, my fall on the run down the hill in the rain ... but then, all the stuff with Cloud, him helping me back to his house ... I'd say I dreamed it, but that isn't really an effective description. It was more like a hallucination that my mind had conjured up as I lay in the cold and rain. What really happened was of no interest. The rain didn't stop, and so after my imagination had finished making me feel warm and loved, I decided to try to make my way down the hill again. I settled for sliding down most of the way on my backside, and then when the ground was less muddy I managed to pull myself upright, and limp the rest of the way. I was shivering so much I thought I'd never be warm again, my fingers digging so hard in my upper arms that they left bruises. My leg ached, and I felt as though it was dragging me down towards the floor. My ponytail hung, limp, muddy and drenched, over my shoulder, with strands of hair splayed across my face in crazed directions. I limped through the deserted village, past all the houses with their warm, lit windows ... I passed _Seventh Heaven_ and felt my heart sink when I saw, through the window, Cloud and Yuffie sat together on a window seat, one of his knees pulled up to his chest and his shirt still hanging open, and Yuffie was wrapped in a cream cable knit cardigan I recognised as mine. I couldn't remember when I lent it to her but it must have been months ago. I couldn't remember wearing it for a long time. It didn't matter though. It looked better on her with her cute, cropped hair. Each had a drink in their hand and though they weren't touching (even Yuffie was smart enough not to flirt with a boy other than Kadaj in public) there was a clear electricity between them. Cloud turned suddenly, and his eyes met mine through the window. As usual, his face gave nothing away. I limped away, towards the dark, empty windows of my house.

The house was cold and empty. I didn't know where everyone was – perhaps they were also at _Seventh Heaven_, or one of the other pubs in the village – so I was still shivering violently as I padded around the house. I bundled my clothes into the washing machine, turned it on and then burst into tears when I realised that I had left my iPod in the pocket of my shorts. There was no hot water left so I was forced to clean myself in freezing cold water. I was still shivering when I lay down on the sofa, clad in some old long pyjama bottoms and a big knitted hooded jumper of Zack's. I pulled a blanket over me and tried to watch a film. All that was on was an old black and white film ... _Niagara_. I didn't understand it and soon I had fallen into a fitful sleep.

I was warm enough when I woke up. Far too warm. I had a raging fever and my chest ached. I had a rattling cough and when I managed to clear my throat there was blood on the tissue I had coughed into. But thankfully I wasn't alone now. The lights were on, the heating turned up and the curtains drawn. Dad was sat in the armchair opposite the sofa I was stretched out on, reading a well thumbed book. My eyes were all blurry and I couldn't read the title. He looked up.

"Hey, you're awake."

"Yes ... where were you guys?"

"Zack and Aerith were having a drink at Seventh Heaven and I was watching Marlene for Barrett. Sure was busy. Must have been because of the storm. Where were you?"

"I went for a run ... but I slipped and hurt my leg. I got stuck out there."

"What? Really?"

I nodded. Zack, Aerith and Cloud came into the room. Cloud gave me a very brief, barely noticeable nod.

"Are you okay, Tifa? You don't look very well." Aerith came forward and placed a hand to my forehead. "You're so warm ..."

"I-I'm fine. Really." I swung my legs out and wriggled out from under the blanket. My head ached and my chest was agony.

"Your leg!"

I looked down at it – I'd forgotten that I'd hurt it. The shower had washed away the blood and mud but it had started bleeding again.

"Oh it's okay, really. I'm gonna go get a plaster ..."

I stood up and my head spun. I felt nauseous, my chest thudded, I was shivering but boiling at the same time ... I walked towards the kitchen, but the floor moved and the ceiling spun, and suddenly I was on the floor, and as everything faded I heard their shouts.

"Tifa! Are you okay? Tifa!"

* * *

**Chibi: Ah the drama. We all thrive on it, don't deny it! Review monster needs feeding please. Thanks for reading!**


	7. Seven

**Chibi: Hi everybody, thank you for the reviews! I hope you're pleased with the speed with which I updated ... I don't really have an explanation for it. But I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please review :3**

* * *

**Seven**

When I awoke I was in my bed. I was still in the same outfit as earlier, and the blankets were pulled up right under my chin. My bed felt warm and safe but I still felt as awful as before – my fever was still raging and my chest felt like there was a hole in it. As soon as I tried to move I fell into a deep coughing fit and when it finished there were splatters of blood on my hands. I wiped the blood off onto a tissue and moaned.

"What's wrong with me ...?"

"You've got pneumonia." I weakly turned over in bed and saw Zack sat in the armchair in the corner of the room. His hair was standing on end, as though he had been running his hands through it endlessly, and he looked pale and tired. His eyes, which had always been so blue they seemed to glow, stood out startlingly in his drawn face.

"Pneumonia?"

"Yeah ... from being out in that storm for so long." He walked over and was soon hovering over me. "Can I get you anything?"

"Water ..."

"Sure, sure ..." He rubbed his face, seemingly exhausted. He looked scared. "I'll go get your water ... and you've got some worried people downstairs. I'll let them know you're awake." I nodded sleepily, and watched as he left the room. I heard his footsteps going down the stairs and then I felt my eyes shut again, sleep pulling on me.

* * *

"Tifa?" There was a cool hand on my forehead. I drowsily pulled my eyes open. A sweet, kindly but ultimately worried face was looking down on me.

"Aerith?" She smiled slightly.

"Here ... Zack said you wanted some water." She held the glass to my lips and I sipped gratefully. The pounding in my head seemed to ease up slightly. Only slightly though. My head weakly fell back onto the pillow. "You scared us, Tifa."

"How did I get here?"

"Zack carried you upstairs. You've been asleep for a couple of hours. Here, let me take your temperature ..." I obliged as Aerith pushed a thermometer under my tongue, and I let my eyes fall shut, listening to her chatter. "I can't believe you got stuck out there like that ... I've bandaged your leg as well. What happened there? And your father found your iPod in the washing machine and has sworn to buy you a new one ..."

I allowed a small smile to spread across my face. She gently eased the thermometer from my mouth and looked at it.

"Still pretty high ... but you're getting cooler. Come on, let's get you out of that jumper ..." She eased me upright, and without caring I allowed her to pull Zack's jumper over my head. She averted her eyes from my bare chest, and gently pulled down my arms and over my head a soft, clean t-shirt. Already I felt my temperature falling, but my limbs still shivered uncontrollably. Aerith gently pressed me down and pulled the blanket up around me.

"Try and sleep ... I know your father wants to check on you at some point. The doctor's already come and seen you and has left some antibiotics for you to take. Your father will come and wake you up when you need to take them next." Her soft hand graced my warm forehead again, and soon my heavy eyelids had fallen and my thoughts gradually dissolved.

* * *

A hand shook me gently.

"Tifa ... it's time to take your tablets." I groaned and opened my eyes. My father's kindly face, with red wine eyes just like mine, was hovering over mine, worry creasing his forehead. I struggled to sit up.

"What time is it?" My voice sounded thick and groggy. I willingly swallowed the tablets he handed me with a sip of water. He checked his watch.

"About eleven at night. You've only been up here since about eight."

"Where is everyone?"

"Aerith's in bed ... she's hoping to come and check on you during the night. Zack and Cloud are having a drink downstairs."

I stretched slightly, and realised why I was so uncomfortable.

"Um, Dad ... can you take help me to the bathroom?"

He blushed slightly. "Oh, sure ..." He helped me out of bed, and supported me as I staggered to the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and felt myself shaking as I lowered myself down onto the toilet. When I was done I weakly hauled myself upright, washed my hands and opened the door. Dad put his arm around me and I leant on him as we slowly walked towards the bedroom. Bizarrely I didn't feel so ashamed for being so helpless. No ... it was nice to be pandered to. Before Aerith had moved in, I had looked after this family. I'd done the washing, cooking, cleaning ... I'd made sure the bills were paid and that Dad wasn't drinking too much. It was nice to rest and be fed and taken care of. It was nice to see Dad thinking of anything other than whiskey and Mum.

He tucked me up gently in bed, and kissed my forehead.

"Try to sleep, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Dad."

"No problem ... I love you."

"Love you too ..." I mumbled sleepily. Once more, my eyes slid shut.

* * *

I woke up with a start, and my coughing fit took over. There wasn't so much blood on my hands afterwards, which I guessed was a good sign. I wiped my hands clean and weakly turned over under the covers and took in a quick intake of breath. There someone was asleep in the armchair, their figure barely visible in the dark. My sudden breath was enough to wake them.

"Hey ... you're up. How're you feeling?" I fumbled for the switch on my bedside lamp. A dull light filled the room and I saw that it was Cloud sat in the armchair, one ankle resting on his knee and rubbing his eyes. He was still in his outfit from earlier. The obvious fatigue on his face was endearing.

"A bit better, actually. What are you ... what are you doing in here?"

His face coloured a little. "I ... I just wanted to check that you were okay. Everyone's asleep and I didn't want you to wake up alone."

I mustered a feeble smile. "Thank you ... that's very kind. What time is it?"

He looked at his watch. "Quarter to three."

My throat burned, and I noticed a glass of water on top of the bookshelf beside Cloud. "Could I p-possibly have some water?" He quickly picked up the glass and came to sit beside me on the bed. He handed me the glass and I took it in my hot hands, sipping it appreciatively. He raised his hand.

"Um ... may I?" I nodded, and he gently placed it against my forehead. "You're still very warm. Do you want me to open the window?" I nodded again and he leant over me, pushing the window open. His shirt fell forward and my face grew a little warmer as I noticed how close his stomach was to my face. The cool breeze that drifted through the window was nice though. The rain was still falling hard outside.

"Do you think that rain will ever end?" I asked jokingly. There wasn't an answer from Cloud. He was sat back in the armchair, his ankle back on his knee and his hand across his face and massaging his temples on either side. "I don't think I'd ever felt so cold out there!"

"Yeah, well, perhaps you should have been more careful."

I felt my brow furrow. I'd never heard Cloud speak in that kind of tone before. He sounded annoyed, and I was worried that he was annoyed with me. My family may have been worried about me, but he clearly thought I was just a silly, pathetic girl.

"What do you mean?"

"You should have known that you'd get sick out there."

"Hey ... I tried to get home sooner. But, my leg-"

"-well you should have tried harder!" He snapped suddenly. The harshness of his words hurt, far more than my chest or my throat.

"Cloud, I couldn't."

"You should have known better! You should have known you'd get sick!" He was actually shouting now, and I was scared. His eyes blazed, and his face was getting red.

"Cloud, calm down!"

"What's going on in here?" Zack was stood at the door in his boxers, looking sleepy and concerned. Cloud scrunched up his eyes, and then walked heavily out of the room. I looked after him, completely confused. Zack shook his head.

"Zack, why was he so mad at me? It's not my fault I got ill!" He sighed, and shut the door.

"Tifa ... that's kind of Cloud's way of showing he cares."

Cloud ... cared?

"What? Why?"

Zack stared at me hard. "Why do you think, Tifa?"

I was lost for words. My mouth kept opening and closing like I was a goldfish. He shook his head.

"Try and get some sleep, okay?" He closed the door behind me, leaving me alone with my confused, muddled thoughts.

* * *

It took me just over a week to recover enough to be up and walking, but I still had a rattling cough that lasted for a few more weeks. Obviously it was just a mild case. I didn't see Cloud at all during that time. Neither Zack nor Aerith mentioned him at all, though I was sure they must have seen him. They obviously thought he was somewhat of a sore spot for me. But he wasn't – I was confused and was desperate for news from him. I drifted in and out of consciousness that week, until finally my temperature was regular and I was able to walk around the house without collapsing. I was still on antibiotics, but life seemed almost back to normal. Except for the absence of Cloud ... which was a rather strange statement to make. I could only have known Cloud for a few weeks, and yet he felt like an integral, non-moving part of my life. I wandered how weird it would be when he left for Nibelheim at the end of the summer.

A few days after I'd recovered, Zack decided he was going to take me for a walk round the village. I felt like I hadn't breathed fresh air in forever. He forced me to put a warm jumper on, but allowed me to wear a pair of shorts and ankle boots. The cool breeze was relaxing on my bare legs, and I let my arm link with Zack's as we ambled through the village, our fight from the day I fell ill completely forgotten. We bumped into Barret, who insisted I came to the bar for a drink when I felt up to it. It was nice to be out and about, to be feeling strong and able once more.

Until we rounded a corner, and came face to face with Kadaj Shinra, who was just coming out of a narrow alleyway. His eyes, a sickly green colour, glowed strangely from beneath his heavy, sweaty looking fringe, and he looked angry. But his expression changed rapidly. His face seemed to do two things upon seeing me and Zack – it brightened into a smile at the sight of my brother, yet somehow managed to turn that smile into a leer when he saw me beside Zack, holding his arm. My grip had tightened as soon as I'd seen him and I felt myself instinctively drawing back from him, like a shy child, trying to put my brother between Kadaj and myself. Zack didn't seem to notice the leering aspect to Kadaj's expression and greeted him amiably.

"Hey, man. Haven't seen you in ages. Where have you been?"

Kadaj shrugged, and pushed his hair back from his face. There was a fine layer of sweat spread across his forehead. From what, I wondered. Heat? Exertion? Fear?

"I've been around. Taking care of business."

"As usual," Zack remarked, an easy smile pulling on his lips. I still didn't understand how Zack could be friends with Kadaj, but I had decided at that point that it was none of my business. As long as I didn't have to be near him then that was fine. I still couldn't put my finger on it but there was something about him that truly made my skin crawl. My heart always fluttered and jumped when I saw him, but without the grace and lightness of a butterfly. More like with the clumsiness and weight of a rhinoceros.

"Let's have a drink tonight, Fair. On me."

"Sounds good. Whereabouts?"

"Seventh Heaven should be good. Yuffie will be around," he looked meaningfully at me with these words. "Perhaps you could come keep her company, Teefy."

"I'm still sick." I stated firmly, refusing to meet his eyes. "I have to stay in."

"Fine," he shrugged, seemingly uncaring. "See you around nine, Fair." He moved past us, his pale hand waving limply behind above his head.

I tried not to look directly at Zack; for fear that he would see straight through me and be able to see in plain view my rapidly beating heart, pulsing so vibrantly with the fear of Kadaj's words. I felt sick, and scared. I knew that this summer Kadaj viewed Yuffie as his property but I was starting to get the feeling that he viewed me as some kind of goal. Or prize.

Zack didn't seem to notice, and we carried on walking. I happened to glance down the alleyway from which Kadaj had come, and stopped quite suddenly at the sight of a girl clutching herself at the far end. I pulled away from Zack and moved towards her. I knew that silhouette anywhere.

"Yuffie?"

She looked up, startled, and her eyes also seemed to glow in the darkness of the alley. Her face looked scared, and she was clutching at her wrist. I could see in the dim light that one side of her face was a fierce red, with the unmistakable shape of a hand across the cheek.

"Yuffie what happened?"

"Nothing," her voice trembled treacherously. I was worried – I had never seen Yuffie like this before. She looked so self-conscious and timid. She sniffed hard, and I realised that she had been crying. "I-I'm fine. I j-just fell, is all."

I moved closer towards her, and grabbed at her hands, pulling her arms out straight. They were covered in bruises, like they had been when I had bumped into her outside of Seventh Heaven, the purple marks in the clear, definite shape of fingers digging deeply into her flesh. She instinctively pulled her arms back into her torso.

"I'm fine, honestly ... I'm fine," she kept repeating this, and I knew she wasn't trying to convince me, or Zack, who was hovering behind me with a look of concern on his face but remained silent. I'm fairly certain that we both knew who had left these marks on Yuffie. "I'm fine," she whispered one more time, ending her desperate mantra, and hurriedly pulled on a cardigan she'd had tied loosely around her waist, effectively covering up her arms. I noticed with a slight pang again that it was mine, the one I'd seen her wearing whilst tucked up beside Cloud, as I stood outside in the rain, watching them through the window of the bar.

"I-I'll see you later," she mumbled, and pushed past us, walking swiftly and shakily away. We watched her go, and Zack's face seemed to grow dark. He gently took my arm.

"Come on, let's go home." I nodded, and held onto him tightly as we travelled back to the house. I suddenly felt as weak as a kitten, and all I wanted was to lie down. I clung to Zack's arm, and I'm certain that this time he knew that I was scared.

* * *

When we got back to the house I immediately went upstairs to my bed, and fell into a deep, fitful sleep, which saw me waking later tangled up in my sheets, sweat dripping down my face and my heart beating fast. I sat for a few moments, my hands trembling, trying to remember why I was so scared. I couldn't remember, the dream was slipping from my memory as rapidly as water from cupped hands, and I settled for lying my head down on the window sill, my body hunched up against the wall beneath it. My chest was still rising and falling rapidly, but gradually it slowed, and my hands soon became still.

I pulled my hair into a high ponytail, pulled on Zack's big, knitted jumper that had been lying at the end of my bed since the night I fell ill, and stumbled downstairs. It was still fairly light outside, but the house had a late feel to it. The air was silent, and the landing and hallway dark. I trod the stairs knowingly, regardless of the darkness. I had lived in this house ever since I was born; I knew the ups and downs of the floor better than I knew myself.

Downstairs was dark too, and I peered through the gloom at the clock in the hall. It was half past nine. I could see that there was light coming from under the door of Dad's study, but I left him be. The kitchen was dark too; as was the lounge ... I had no idea where Aerith was. I wasn't too worried, though. She'd probably gone with Zack to the bar. I settled down in an armchair in the living room and reached up to turn on the lamp behind it. A soft glow fell over me, and I noticed a book on the floor beside the chair. I didn't know who it belonged to, but it looked well-thumbed, which is always a good sign for me. I picked it up, and looked at the cover, which read _Wide Sargasso Sea_. I'd heard of it. Heard that it was good. I flicked it open, settled down in the chair, and began to read.

I've never been able to read a book in quite the same way as my father or Zack could. I'm not entirely sure if I remember how my mother would read. As a family, the four of us had always been heavy readers. Three of us, I guess I should say now. When my father or brother settled down to read, it was hard to pull them away. They became so totally absorbed that you could be repeating their name loudly and waving a hand in front of their face for a good few minutes before they noticed that anything was going on. I, however, drifted in and out of books. It took me forever to read a book because my concentration was so scattered. That night, though, I found myself engrossed. Perhaps it was because the house was so quiet. I was only shaken from my reverie by the doorbell, which rang loudly and persistently throughout the house. I glanced up at the clock, and was shocked to find that it was half past eleven. I'd been sat in the exact same position for two hours straight, and as I unfolded myself from the chair the feeling came back into my lower body with sharp urgency. I couldn't for the life of me think who would be ringing the doorbell at half eleven at night, but even so I stumbled out into the hall, and pulled the door open.

It was Cloud.

I couldn't speak, almost couldn't breathe. I hadn't seen him since that night, when he'd shouted at me, but I couldn't tell if I was angry or happy to see him. I'd never felt like this before. It was queer; my hands twitched and I felt a thousand emotions slip in and out of focus in my mind. I just stared at him, trying not to let my face give any of my feelings away, and he stared blankly back. I think he was surprised to see me. He looked dishevelled, and slightly out of sorts. I still didn't really know him too well but I knew that he didn't seem himself. His hair was a mess, more than usual, as though he'd been distractedly pulling on the ends of it. I wondered why, and why his eyes, like everyone else's today, seemed to glow harshly out of his pale face. He was wearing a big, navy cable knit jumper, one I instantly wanted to steal from him simply because of its leather buttons at the neck, but it had fallen over on his shoulder, as though pulled there. I could see white cotton covering the shoulder beneath the jumper, but that looked like it had been pulled at too. He was wearing a pair of cream, knee length shorts, but they seemed normal. I don't know why that thought entered my head, but it looked like he had been pulled or pushed around a bit and I was immediately assessing to what extent it had been. He had a hand on the door frame, but he pulled it away now.

"Tifa ..."

I stared at him dumbly for a few more moments, until I found my voice and managed to clear my head briefly.

"Cloud ... come in."

"Is Zack here?" I almost felt my heart sink at those words. Of course. He was here for Zack. Why else would he be here? After all, he'd seemed surprised to see me at the door. He obviously thought I was still bed-ridden. Well, unfortunately for him, I was up and about.

"He's at the bar with Kadaj. Do you want to come inside?"

He was silent for a moment, and then, seeming to come to a decision, nodded. I stepped back to let him through, and shut the door behind me. He looked around in the gloom. The light was still on in my father's study, I noticed. I wondered if he was writing or drinking. I hoped it was the first but it was highly likely that it was the latter.

I took Cloud through to the kitchen, and after I had flicked the light on he sat down at the table, and, resting his elbows upon it, pressed his face into his hands. I stood in the centre of the kitchen, watching him worriedly. He was naturally a quiet person, this much I knew, but he definitely seemed out of sorts tonight. He looked like he was fighting a battle within himself, though why I could not fathom.

"Do you want something to drink?"

He nodded firmly, and the resolve with which he did so alerted me to the fact that he didn't want a cup of tea. I headed straight for the cabinet that I knew Dad kept the whiskey in, and pulled an open bottle out. I placed two tumblers down on the table in front of Cloud, and half-filled each glass. I needed a drink too.

I left the bottle on the table, knowing that soon Cloud's glass would need refilling. He pulled his head out his hands, and, after taking a large gulp from his tumbler, sat with his hands around it, as though it was a warm mug and his hands were cold. I sipped at my own tumbler, jerking at the strong taste. I was no stranger to whiskey, but the strength of it always seemed to catch me off guard. I watched Cloud, who was alternating between drinking from the glass, and holding it firmly, and when the drink was finished and I had quickly refilled it, I decided to try some conversation.

"Is everything okay, Cloud?"

He stared silently at the table. All I wanted to do was reach out, and brush his fringe away from his face, just to see his face if not in a caring manner, but in the seemingly fragile state he was in, I thought it might be best to leave him be. His eyes, from what I could see, looked sad.

"How old are you, Tifa?"

The question took me by surprise. I hadn't really expected Cloud to answer me. He still didn't look up, but the words were there, between us, suspended in the tense air. I sat down opposite him.

"I'm fifteen." He sighed deeply, seeming to shake his head.

"You're so young ..."

"I'm not a child."

He shook his head again. "No ... of course not."

I drank deeply from my glass, draining it, and refilled it as swiftly as I had refilled Cloud's. I had a strange urge to get drunk, but I held myself back – I didn't want to make a fool of myself, or be so vulnerable, in Cloud's presence. I sipped at the newly full glass, and, seeing Cloud lay down his hands, I reached across the table to place mine over one of them. I had meant it to simply be a friendly, perhaps comforting gesture, but Cloud suddenly turned his hand over, and held mine tight. He began to run a thumb, slightly calloused, over the top of my hand, and I felt my cheek sinking down to rest in the palm of my other hand, supported by my elbow on the table. I watched him, the movements of his thumb strangely hypnotic, and the feel of it comforting. I felt so at ease sat at the kitchen table, just me and him, as he held and stroked my hand – such a contrast from the stiffness and breathlessness that I had felt when I opened the door to him just ten minutes or so earlier. This felt so natural. I felt as though my body had long ago accepted his touch, and now yearned for it. My fingers found his and squeezed them gently.

He still stared down at the kitchen table, at our hands, and he gently licked his lips. "Tifa, about that night ... I'm sorry I shouted at you."

"That's okay, Cloud."

"No," he shook his head, looking more tired than ever. "It's not. It's not okay. I shouldn't have said what I said. I guess I just let my feelings take over."

"It was quite nice to see some emotion. You're normally so unreadable, Cloud." I hoped he could see the smile I was giving, which was just for him.

"I ... I was just ... just ..." he trailed off, but I pushed him gently. I wanted answers.

"Just what?"

His hand squeezed mine tightly. "I was worried."

"Why?" I stroked his hand now, which was surprisingly soft.

"Because ..." he looked up at me, looked straight into my eyes, and for once his face wasn't unreadable. There were a thousand emotions there. I could see sorrow, regret, worry, fear ... perhaps even fondness. His eyes shone truthfully, and I found myself trapped between his thick, blonde eyelashes, unable to look away from the sky blue that looked so earnestly at me. "Because you were -"

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the front door closing. I cursed inside, as Cloud resolutely shut his mouth and I knew he wasn't going to say anymore on the matter. He quickly withdrew his hand from mine, and he turned in his seat. Zack appeared at the doorway, a tired looking Aerith at his side. My hand still lay, limp as a fish now, on the table between myself and Cloud. It was soon as though I didn't exist.

"Cloud, what are you doing here?"

"I needed to see you ... is that okay?"

"Of course ... you know I'm always up for another drink."

I took that as my cue to get up and leave. Neither of them bade me goodnight. Zack drained my glass and topped up both his and Cloud's. As I trudged up the stairs behind Aerith, I heard the murmur of their voices, and wished whole-heartedly that Zack was still out. I wanted to stay sat across from Cloud, my hand in his, forever. I wanted him to stroke my skin and look at me, talk to me ... I shook my head, much like Cloud had been doing before, before Zack had interrupted us, and put myself to bed. I lay with the curtain open, knowing I'd regret it in the morning, and tried to complete Cloud's halted sentence.

_Because ... because you were ..._

Because I was hurt? Ill? Foolish?

_Because you were ..._

I furrowed my brow, but pulled the covers over me, and closed my eyes. Sleep was a long time coming.

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**Chibi: minor edits made 28/6/2011. Everyone will predictably be clamouring, begging me: what was he going to saaaay? Hah. I wish! Please review. It'll make me happy. I'll still write depressing stuff but I'll be happy. Hm. Paradox. Anyway, thanks for reading.**


	8. Eight

**Chibi: So sorry for the long wait, guys, but I have an excuse! I've been recovering from surgery and it has set the creative cogs of my mind turning so don't hate me please! I was thinking of all you lovely readers the entire time.**

**So, here is Eight. I hope you like it! It took me a few days to write it but it's been planned out for ages. It was originally going to be longer but as I was finishing it up like ten minutes ago this ending bounced into my head and threatened me so I simply had to put it in. As always, I love me some feedback so if you could review you would make me very happy. Please.**

**Anyway. Enjoy!**

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**Eight**

I was the first up the next morning, which in recent days was a big thing for me. In the last week or so, in my recovery, it had been hard for me to get up in the morning. Normally I awoke to Aerith gently shaking me awake, telling me breakfast was ready. But that morning, the sun was streaming through my window because I'd forgotten to close my curtains, and when I listened carefully I couldn't hear any sound coming from downstairs. I sat up, still somewhat shakily, and pulled Zack's jumper on again over my t-shirt and shorts. It neatly covered me up to the base of my shorts. I headed downstairs.

I did everything that I'd done before Aerith moved in - everything that belonged to me, all that was _my_ job. I cooked the breakfast, I made the tea, I made my father's coffee just the way he liked it. Then I went and banged on everybody's doors, telling them to get up. As I stalked back down the stairs, I felt angry but it also felt good. This was _my_house. I'd looked after everybody since my mother had died, and that was the way it was going to stay. Zack and Aerith couldn't live here forever. They might not last forever as a couple, either. I knew, sooner or later, things would be back to normal. Me, Dad and Zack. Dad as the breadwinner. Me as the mother. Zack as ... Zack. She didn't have a place here. She wasn't even from here, she was from Midgar. She didn't have dark hair and the surname Fair, so in my mind, that meant that she didn't belong here.

Everyone sat themselves down for breakfast – bacon and fried egg sandwiches – and I bustled about, pouring tea and coffee, turning on the radio so we could listen to the news. My father hadn't seemed to really notice anything was different, but Zack kept shooting me strange looks. Aerith looked strange wrapped in her dressing gown, her hair pulled back in its usual braid but messier than usual. She was always so neat and tidy when we saw her each morning, and here she was looking vulnerable. Well, that was fine by me. I may have been in my pyjamas and my brother's jumper, but I'd been up before her, and I'd made sure everyone was fed and watered.

My father finished first, and he grunted his thanks, shuffling out of the kitchen with his mug of coffee still clasped in his hand. Then Zack finished the last bite of his, and was stretching his arms out above his head and yawning. I wished that he'd put more clothes on, I had always found it disconcerting how he thought it was okay to sit at the table and eat his breakfast with us in just a pair of boxers. He gave me another strange look, and then got up, nodding his thanks, and disappeared upstairs. Aerith and I were sat together in the kitchen, both in our pyjamas, both sipping tea. I stared at her warily, watching as she drank deeply. She looked tired, very tired, and I wondered why. I noticed with a painful tug on my heart that the dressing gown she was wrapped in had belonged to my mother. It had hung on the back of the bathroom door since she had died, and now Aerith was wearing it. I could only assume that Zack had given it to her to borrow. Well, fine. If he thought that was okay then I guessed it was. I held myself tightly, feeling something that could have been smugness at the thought that I was the one wearing Zack's jumper, not Aerith.

As soon as she had finished her tea and declined more, I started gathering up all the plates and loading the dishwasher. I watched as Aerith got up, rubbing her eyes.

"Thank you for breakfast, Tifa," I nodded, my back turned, but I knew that she'd seen it. I heard her leave the room. I started washing up the pans, aggressively, water slopping out over the sides of the sink and onto my bare feet. I ignored it, scrubbing hard at pans that didn't really need much scrubbing. Before Aerith had come here, the pans had all been caked in a layer of black that was burnt on through excessive use, which wouldn't come off no matter how hard I tried. But she'd washed them in something weird that I'd never heard of before, and suddenly they were as clean as when we'd first bought them all those years ago. I angrily dumped the too-clean pan on the draining board, shaking my head. Why did all these thoughts keep messing with my mind? Why did I _care_ so much? She was just a girl, just a nice girl trying to help but I felt as though every kind word, from the moment she'd stepped in the house and made breakfast before me that first morning and through my week in bed, as she'd cared for me and given me my tablets when I needed them, was suffocating me. I felt as though I was drowning in this sweet, floral light that rushed in through my mouth and nose and hurt my eyes and choked the life out of me. I gripped the draining board hard, my head hanging down, my face fierce and angry.

"Tifa?" Her voice, soft and gentle, hurt my ears. Again, I felt her kindness flooding my lungs and gripped the counter even harder. "Are you alright? Do you feel sick again?"

I had always thought that the worst way to die was by drowning.

"I'm fine. Just a little dizzy."

"Well, maybe you should go sit down."

"I'm fine, Aerith. Really." I pushed myself upright, and saw that she had a laundry basket under her arm. She saw my eyes drift towards it and hitched it up higher, so that it was nestled beneath her armpit.

"I was going to do some laundry. Is there anything you want washing?"

The smugness I had felt that morning, as I gathered everyone round to eat my breakfast, was ebbing away quickly, but I was determined to hold on to it. I pulled the basket out from under her arm and she gave me a startled look, and I briefly wondered (somewhat guiltily) if I had hurt her as I'd done that. But I held the basket close.

"I'll do it."

"Tifa, please. It's really no trouble, I'm more than happy to do it. Why don't you just go and sit down, and relax?" One of her hands reached out and rested on the basket.

"Let me do it, Aerith. You're a guest, I can't let you." I pulled it away, out of her reach. I couldn't really read her face – I doubted she was angry with me, for behaving the way I was. There seemed to be some annoyance there, though. I wondered if she really did want to do the laundry (perhaps she really enjoyed doing it?) or if she was just annoyed with me for taking this chance to impress Zack away from her. Because that was what this all boiled down to, really: who Zack was impressed with. For me, anyway.

"Come on, Tifa. You can go relax. You did breakfast." I saw her hand again reaching out towards the basket.

"Just let me do it, Aerith!" I pulled it away one final time, and it wasn't till I saw the scared, confused look on her face that I realised that I'd shouted at her. It was then that I also realised that she really just wanted to help me out, and that she really was worried about me, but in that moment I didn't care a bit. In that moment, I despised her, and I had never felt so much anger towards one person. I hated her for taking my brother away from me. I hated her for charming my father in the way I never could. I hated the way people seemed to fall under some kind of spell when they were near her, simply because she was so kind, sweet, and graceful. I hated the fact that I knew no boy would ever try to touch her or hurt her, not only because they knew that Zack would rip them apart, but because she was almost too pure to want to sully. She was like some kind of angel that was gracing our village, and I seemed to be the only person who wanted her out. Or, rather, one of the only people. I could immediately think of one silver-haired boy, someone very close to Zack, who was none too fond of the girl he'd brought home from Midgar.

"Hey, what's going on here?"

I found myself breathing heavily, gripping the basket with an iron-like hold, and Aerith was pushed up with her back against the counter, her eyes scared and confused. Zack was stood in the doorway, in running shorts and a t-shirt, a pair of running shoes held loosely in his hands by the laces. His eyes burned with an emotion that looked like a mixture of confusion and anger.

"Nothing," I muttered. I thrust the basket at Aerith, and she took it with shaking hands. "You do it."

I pushed past Zack, and into the hall, moving quickly up the stairs. I heard him say a few words to Aerith, which I could – or chose – not to hear, and then I heard what I knew I would hear: his footsteps quickly following mine up the stairs.

"Tifa, what the hell?"

"Just leave me alone, Zack."

"What the hell was going on there?"

"Nothing, just stay out of it, Zack! It's nothing to do with you!" I reached the top of the stairs, with him close behind me, and as I tried to escape into my bedroom he grabbed my arm and whirled me around to face him.

"It has everything to do with me!"

"Let go!" His fingers dug painfully into my arm, digging deeper and holding tighter every time I tried to pull my arm back. "Just forget about it, nothing happened!"

"It didn't look that way to me!" I gave up trying to pull my arm back, and finally looked up into his face. He looked fierce; livid, even. I noticed then that he'd cut his hair, back into the way it always used to fall, shorter in the back with two sections of fringe falling forward either side of his face. He looked younger than when I had found him in the kitchen just a few weeks ago, fresh from dropping out of university with a beautiful girl in tow, with his hair long and feral, and one long strand falling down the side of his face. But his eyes burned with the same fierceness, and were built with the same experience and knowledge as they'd always been. It felt weird, like I only knew the tip of the iceberg about him. I got the feeling though that these days, that was how he felt about me.

"Just forget it, Zack. It really has nothing to do with you."

"Tifa, it's to do with you and Aerith. It has _everything_ to do with me! She's my girlfriend, and you're-"

"I'm your sister, yes!" I yanked my arm back with a sense of finality and he let it go, his own arm falling to his side and his fists clenching. "_I_am your sister; _I_ am your own blood! But you don't care anymore! You run off every single day with _her_, and Kadaj, and Cloud, and you spare no thought for me!"

"Like you can talk!" He was shouting back now, his eyes furious. "You spend your life wrapped around Yuffie's finger! You are messing with the _wrong_ crowd, Tifa!"

I started to reply with 'No more than you', but I was cut off. I managed to get out the words "No more-" when a sharp voice sliced through my angry response and forced my mouth shut.

"-Stop fighting, both of you!" Zack and I both whirled around, and found our father stood there, his brow furrowed and a notebook in his hand. He looked tired, cross and confused. "What's gotten into you two?"

I found myself lost for words, and I'm fairly certain that Zack was in a similar position. Our father may have shouted at us and reprimanded us in the past, but he had never really told us off. Not for something that was between the two of us as siblings. We had always felt that it was _our_ territory. Even when our mother was alive, if Zack and I got into an argument our parents just left us to it, and allowed us to sort it out ourselves. And yet, here was our father, facing us on the landing and interfering in our argument and commanding us to stop. I didn't know what to say. I opened my mouth, about to say something, but nothing came out. A quick, side glance at Zack told me that he was experiencing the same kind of confusion about how to respond and behave.

"You're brother and sister. I don't care what you're fighting about, but just stop it. I don't want to hear you two fight."

We hung our heads, like a pair of children. "Sorry, Dad," I heard Zack murmur.

"Yeah, sorry," I all but whispered. I glanced up, to see how my father had reacted to our stilted, confused apologies, when I noticed which room he'd come out of in the midst of our argument. "Um, Dad, why were you in my room?"

"What?"

"My room," I pointed at the doorway behind him. "You came out of it. What were you doing in there?"

"Oh..." He shrugged softly, and his eyes grew vacant and somewhat distant. His passionate hatred of mine and Zack's fighting seemed to have dissipated entirely. He was back in his own world. "I was doing some research. For my new book."

He moved between us and started to descend the stairs, his demeanour as cool as ever – when he wasn't drinking, that is. Again, for the second time that morning, I found myself lost for words. He was writing again? He had to be, right? He'd said that he was doing research for his new book. For the first time in a long time, maybe the first time that summer, I felt some sort of hope. Hope that we'd be happy again, that we were getting back on track. That _he_ was getting back on track. If he was writing again, that meant that he was finally getting over her, right? Since my mother's death, my father had only written one book, and it was a sad, dark work that received mixed praise. That had been four years ago, though. So much promise hung in his words, for me at least. _My new book_. New. If he'd said _my next book_ I wouldn't have viewed it in quite the same way, but the fact that he'd said _new_ gave me promise, hope and a vision of a new life for me and my family. My ramshackle family, which had been barely living since my mother's death. We'd been moving and breathing but we were hardly living. We went through the motions, did what was expected. But now, if he was writing again ...

My memory suddenly whirled me up, and deposited me in the hallway earlier on in the week. A Tuesday, it had been. I'd been up and out of bed for a few days now, walking weakly and sparsely and in need of regular breaks in the living room but I was mobile at least. I'd been shakily pacing the hallway, eyeing the closed door of my father's study, wrapped in one of his old, scratchy cardigans over a pair of shorts and an old, oversized gym t-shirt that I couldn't remember buying. It felt like most of the time that I wore Zack and my father's clothes anyway. But as I'd been walking, my legs as weak as Bambi's and my ankles barely stable, I'd pulled the t-shirt out in front of me, eyeing the large motif on the front, and the words that I could make out in their upside down state made something in my brain jar. _Hewley Academy for Girls_. It had been the school my mother had attended – this was _her_ t-shirt. I held the fabric tightly in my clammy hands, trying to work out how I'd got hold of it. My mother's clothes, since she'd died, had all remained in the place they'd always been, in her wardrobe and her chest of drawers in hers and my father's room. No one touched them. How did I have it? I thought back to that morning, when I was looking for a clean t-shirt in the airing cupboard. It had been right at the back, under a pile of towels. I didn't even think; just assumed it was Zack's or my father's and pulled it out and put it on.

But it was hers.

Standing there, feeling some sort of wave of change flooding through the hallway, licking at my ankles, then my knees, rising with every second that passed as I stood there in my mother's t-shirt, clutching its hem, I looked over to the stairs, to the piano that was still sat there, unused, unwanted. Without thinking, I was striding over, sitting down on the seat that had been worn out years ago, but was now hardly used, and my fingers were laid out on top of the lid. The wood was cool beneath my fingertips – I could feel it through the fine layer of dust that was sprinkled liberally across the surface. I massaged my fingers into the wood, into the dust, making splayed, brown passages through the grey that I then wiped clean away with the sleeve of the cardigan I was wearing.

I looked pointedly at the door of my father's study, still resolutely shut and unyielding, and pulled the lid up. The keys were cold and clean, having been protected from dust by the lid for five years. I laid my fingers on them, just as I had done on the lid, watching the fingers of my mother ghost out across the ebony and ivory as graceful as mist. Still the study door was shut – of course, he couldn't hear what I was doing. Without meaning to, one of my fingers dropped heavily down onto a key, and the note rang out, discordant, echoing in the quiet, empty hallway. Nothing moved. Then I pushed another finger down, and another note sounded. It sang loudly, and sounded wrong. I pushed a few more keys and my suspicions were confirmed – it was very out of tune. It was bound to be, after five years.

I stopped pushing at the keys and sat back, pulling Dad's cardigan closer around me, buttoning it together over the words _Hewley Academy for Girls_, and holding myself tightly. There was a sound, then – the door was opening. My father stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, looking at me with no particular expression on his face except curiosity. I had expected him to be angry, but he didn't say a word, didn't make a sound. Simply leant there, against the wood, his arms folded, his eyes on me, sitting on the stool with my arms close around me. I pushed the lid gently down, and then I looked up at the book of sheet music that rested for five years on the stand, still open on _Amazing Grace_. Her namesake, she'd always said. I closed the book.

Dad had nodded, and then the study door was closing and I was alone in the hall once more. I remembered pulling at the t-shirt, trying to find a label, and then I'd found it at the nape of the neck. Sure enough, a nametag was sewn in, no doubt by my grandmother, who had died ten or so years ago. I was touching where the ghosts of two sets of fingers had. I twisted the t-shirt round and brought the label close up to my eyes. Sure enough, in red stitching, there was her name. _Grace M. Lockhart._

I pulled myself back to the present, as my brother and I stood on the landing staring at my father as he descended the stairs.

"You're writing again?" I heard myself asking. My father didn't speak, simply nodded, and then he was walking to his study and the door was closing. I could only wonder if this hadn't been a long time coming, if it had in fact been a gradual build up that was due to happen any day now. I could only wonder if what had happened with me, him and the piano was anything to do with it.

"Tifa ... I'm going for a run. But this discussion isn't by any means over." Zack pushed past me, and followed my father down the stairs, the running shoes bouncing with his steps. "I'll see you later." I watched as he sat down at the foot of the stairs, lacing up the shoes, and then listened to him leave. As the front door closed I felt a huge sigh escape my body. It seemed to drag my energy out with it, and I found that I had to lean on the doorframe of my bedroom for support. Why couldn't the two of us get along anymore?

* * *

An hour or so later, I was looking for the garage key. It was a slippery key and no one ever seemed to know where it was. I wanted to get inside to get my bike out, to go for a ride, but the key wasn't anywhere downstairs. Dad was shut up in his study, but as I'd taken him a cup of tea earlier I knew that he was working, was writing, rather than sitting reading old detective novels with a glass of whiskey as he'd seemed to be doing for the last four years. Aerith was pottering, hanging out washing and reading a book in the living room. When I'd passed her by earlier, I'd snuck a look at the cover and realised with surprise that she was reading _Wide Sargasso Sea_ – it had been her book left on the floor the night before that I'd been reading. I guess I was surprised because I didn't really think she was into books in the same way my father, brother and I were. But I decided not to disturb her, and we didn't discuss the laundry again.

My search for the garage key took me upstairs, and I wondered whether it could have ended up in Zack's room. He was still out, running presumably, and so I furtively slipped into his room, leaving the door half open beside me. I couldn't remember the last time I had been in my brother's room. It was generally tidy – he'd never been a messy person, not even as a child – but the desk was buried under a heap of papers, books and magazines. Whilst he'd been at university, I rarely came in here; only to change the bedding when he came home for the holidays. Zack hoarded books just like my father did, and so the first thing that was noticeable as I entered the room were the stacks and stacks of books that littered the floor – a mixture of his own, borrowed from my dad's bookshelf, borrowed from the communal living room bookshelf, and borrowed from my own bookshelf. I guided my feet around them, and started sifting through the paper on his desk, trying to locate the key. I happened to glance up, at the shelf that hung above the desk, and found myself staring at the pictures he had up there. There was a copy of the family picture we'd had done, just months before _she'd_ died, with me at ten years old sat on Dad's lap with my hair falling over my shoulder in a French plait, Zack at fourteen with his arm around our mother as she sat beside our father, a huge grin spread across his young face. There was a picture of Dad holding a baby I recognised as myself, as I reached a soft, dimpled hand up to push against his face. Me and Zack aged five and nine, sat on the washing machine in our pyjamas, me with my arms in the air and my smile shy, and Zack with his trademark, carefree grin with his arms wrapped around me. Our mother aged about fifteen or sixteen, in her school uniform, her hair just like mine but with Zack's eyes ... there was another photo, a newer edition to the collection that I didn't recognise. It was of Aerith, in an empty, seemingly abandoned church, knelt down before an enormous bed of flowers with a ribbon in her hair. Something in my heart moved, looking at this collection of photos that was as mismatching and ramshackle as our family. Something was different, something had been altered, but I didn't know what. All I knew was that I felt different. I still felt anger towards him, for getting involved and telling me off, but I became so much more aware that he was my brother, that we had grown up together. It wasn't as if I'd never noticed it, but I guess I'd never really stopped to think about it. He was always there, in nearly every memory, except for those from the last year since he'd left home.

I shook my head, and carried on searching for the key. He had a lot of litter on his desk, and as I found myself triumphant, locating the key beneath a heavy booklet, I managed to knock the booklet to the floor. I sighed, and knelt down on the floor to pick it up. I turned it over in my hands, and suddenly, as I saw the cover, my hands didn't work anymore. I found myself settling down onto the floor, leaning up against the bed with my legs crossed, and opening the booklet to read. It was a prospectus for Midgar University. It was a couple of years old, from when Zack was applying to university as he prepared to finish school. I flicked through it, taking in the pictures of smiling, happy students, all dressed in bright colours and of varying ethnicities, the background of urban, industrial Midgar that somehow attracted me, despite the overwhelming colour of grey that seemed to swallow up these bright, happy students that were no doubt picked specifically by the photographer. Why had Zack run from this? I knew at heart he would always be a country boy – knew that all his friends in Midgar had called him that – but I just couldn't understand why he'd want to come back here, to Gongaga, the smallest and most stifling village out there besides Nibelheim. Why would he give up that freedom, that independence, to come back and live with me and Dad?

I shook my head, still unable to understand, and flicked to the last page. There was an advert there, a picture of three smiling girls with their arms around each other, each holding hockey sticks and wearing the same t-shirt as I was now. _Hewley Academy for Girls_, the slogan read. _Based in the heart of Midgar, the Hewley Academy for Girls resides in Sector 8 and allows young ladies to immerse themselves in all the educational attractions Midgar has to offer whilst providing an excellent education that sets each girl up for life_. I stared at the picture, stared hard, looking into the happy, smiling faces of the three young girls with their matching t-shirts, hockey sticks and ponytails, willing them to tell me something, anything, about my mother, something about what she was like back then. Anything. I wanted to know more, wanted to press each girl further than their smiles and force them to give me solid information, tell me what it was like there, and tell me why my brother and his girlfriend had felt the need to leave. What could be so wrong about this place?

The sudden slamming of the doorway pulled me out of my thoughts, brought me back to the real world where I was sat on the floor of my brother's room, having rifled through his belongings and his footsteps were all too clear coming up the stairs. As I flung the prospectus back onto the desk and picked myself up, I realised he wasn't alone – I could hear him talking to someone, and as the person replied I realised with a feeling of sick horror in my stomach that Kadaj was with him. The closeness of their voices told me it was too late, I couldn't get out of the room now. Given the way Zack had left, and the unfinished status of our argument (a discussion, he'd called it), I knew that if he caught me coming out of his room now, he would not be happy. And so, as I heard them walking across the landing towards the door, which was still half-open as I'd left it, I did the only thing I knew I could do in those circumstances: I dropped quickly to the floor, and rolled under the bed. I lay there, amongst the dust and old pairs of shoes, trying to slow down my heightened, heavy breathing, clutching the garage key tightly in my hand like it was some kind of talisman, to ward them away from my hiding place, and listened to them come into the room, shut the door, and sit down.

"Is your sister home?" As they sat down on the bed, I felt the mattress sag considerably, and I pressed myself flat across the floor, hoping that it wouldn't bump into the top of my head.

"I dunno, man. Why?"

I heard Kadaj sniff, deeply, and I wondered why. He gave a soft chuckle that penetrated through the mattress and into my ears, making my entire body tense up. "Just wonderin'."

"I'd have thought you'd be too busy with Yuffie to think of other girls. Let alone my sister." Zack's voice was cold.

"Yuffie's quite the handful, let me tell you that," Kadaj muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say that I know something's up. Can I smoke in here?"

"Sure," Zack mumbled, and I heard him kneeling on the bed and opening the window. There was the click of a lighter, a deep inhale, and then an equally deep exhale. "What do you mean? You think she's bored of you?"

"No..." I heard Kadaj inhaling again. There was a long pause before he exhaled. "Something's happened ... I think she's done something with some other guy. She's not the same. She doesn't wanna do anything these days. I think, that night when she had that party and I didn't go, she was doing something with some other guy behind my back."

"Really?" My palms were growing sweaty, and I clutched the garage key tighter in my hand, which felt even more like a talisman now. A mantra began in my head, chanting the same words over and over like a magic phrase. _Please don't cotton on, please don't cotton on, please don't cotton on ..._

"Really."

"Well, do you know who with?"

"I have my suspicions."

"And ... if you find out that you were right? Then what?" Another inhale, another pause, another exhale.

"First I'm going to kill the guy who dared to lay his hands on her, and then I'm going to make her pay. No one makes a fool of me."

"Christ, Kadaj!" Zack shifted above me, his feet in their running shoes settling more firmly on the carpet. I could only guess that he had bumped into Kadaj whilst he was out on his run, and had invited him back here. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What are you talking about, Fair?"

"She's fifteen! She's just a kid! I mean, I think it's weird enough that you've been fooling around with her, but give her some freedom for Christ's sake!"

"She's my girl; no one is allowed to touch her. Don't I make that clear enough in this shitty village?"

"Kadaj, you're not even dating her. You're just fooling around with her. She can do whatever the hell she likes!"

"Ah forget it." I heard the click of the lighter again – Kadaj must have lit up another cigarette. "You wouldn't understand anyway. You're completely wrapped up in that girl of yours."

"Come on, don't be mean about Aerith. You know how I feel about her."

Inhale. Pause. Exhale.

"You're too young to tie yourself down to one chick, Fair."

"Ah, whatever, Kadaj." There was a silence, and I held tighter to the key, willing them to argue further, to break friends, to end Kadaj's involvement in my life. But they seemed to have silently settled their differences. Things had changed, though. They never spoke like this before they'd each left home. They were the best of friends then, and rarely argued. Now, it was almost like they were strangers. I didn't know whether to be pleased about this, or to feel sad for Zack.

"So," Kadaj murmured. "Do you wanna go get a drink tonight?"

"Can't, sorry. I promised Cloud I'd see him tonight."

There was a sharp exhale from Kadaj, and I almost knew that the smoke he'd inhaled from the cigarette would be pouring stiffly from his nostrils, like an angry bull.

"What the hell is up with you and this Strife kid? You spend your days attached to his hip."

"Cloud's alright, man. He's just going through a rough time." That threw me. Cloud was going through a rough time? Why didn't I know about this? I felt the key digging sharply into my palm and I loosened my hold on it a bit. I mentally shook myself. Cloud was Zack's friend, after all. Not mine. It was highly unlikely that I'd know what was going on in his life. All we had shared together were a few awkward conversations, and my hand in his across the kitchen table.

"I don't like him. He's weird. Plus, he hit Loz that day."

"Loz kind of deserved it ... he was kind of groping my sister."

"Yeah, well, maybe she deserved it." There was a silence, and I prayed hard that it was because Zack was restraining himself from punching Kadaj, and punching him hard. He seemed to sense how dangerously thin their friendship currently was, and he kept silent. I bit my lip, trying not to stop myself from cursing at Kadaj's stupid, twisted logic.

"So, where will you two go, do you think?" Kadaj put the question forward so casually, you'd have thought that he didn't actually hold any grudge against Cloud.

"I'm not sure. Probably _Seventh Heaven_ though."

Kadaj grunted a response, and then he was standing up, and heading towards the door.

"Well, I guess I'd better be off. Got some business to attend to. See you around, Fair."

"See you." Then, Kadaj was gone – I could hear his footsteps on the stairs. I didn't hear the front door but that didn't worry me, because he was gone. He was no longer in the same room as me, no longer making my skin crawl. I heard Zack sigh loudly, then get up and leave the room too. A door closed nearby, and then I heard the shower turn on and grasped that it was the bathroom door. I cautiously crawled out from under the bed, shaking the dust off of me. When I opened my hand, there was a deep imprint of the key in the skin. I left the room. It wasn't for a good few minutes, as I went into my bedroom to change into some clothes more suitable for cycling, that I heard the front door close, signalling Kadaj's exit.

* * *

That night there was a fire at _Seventh Heaven_.

Nobody was hurt, but it was a serious fire. I can remember every moment of that fire so clearly, which I find kind of odd – everything happened so quickly, so I would have thought that it would all be a blur in my memories. But no ... I was working that night, and I had noticed the Zack and Cloud weren't among that night's customers. I decided that they must have gone to another bar. I can remember being stood behind the bar, and the faint smell of smoke drifting up my nose ... no, wait – I can do better than that. I remember precisely where and how I was stood, and the way the smoke curled out from under the kitchen door like the fingers of an elderly woman. I was stood at the far end of the bar, so a fair distance away from the door, and I had one leg bent, my weight falling on the opposite hip. I was writing out a bill, one hand tapping buttons on the calculator and my wrist resting on the edge of the bar, and there was something sticky (a spilt drink, perhaps) staining the wood beside my other arm, which I was carefully keeping out of the sticky patch. I was writing the total of the bill – forty gil – when I smelt it. It was both faint and strong – weak by distance, but strong by recognition – the unmistakable smell of smoke.

Cid had been by the open front door on his break, talking to a friend. He smelt it the same moment I did, and we both looked up exactly the same time, catching each other's eyes. He ambled over to me, his brow furrowed.

"Do you smell that?" I nodded. He bit his lip with uncertainty, and then called Barret over. "Barret, you smell that?"

Barret breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring with the action. As the smoke entered his nose, and he registered what it was, his eyes widened.

"Smoke." He stated. Cid and I nodded. "Cid, check the kitchen. I'm gonna check outside."

Cid made his way to the kitchen, cautiously pushing the door, as Barret moved towards the front door, but he didn't have a chance to get there and check, as Cid suddenly swore and came dashing back out of the kitchen again.

"There's a goddamn fire!" Barret and I dashed towards the kitchen door, which Cid was holding open, and as my feet took me closer the smell of smoke was stronger and undeniable. Cid's words had set my heart thumping wildly, and as I looked through the open door and saw the gas cooker completely covered in flames, which had spread to the wooden frame of the back door and the window, and were licking at the old beams that held up the ceiling, it seemed to stop in shock. The three of us stood there, almost dumbfounded, watching the smoke pouring out of the open window and hearing the sharp crack of one of the beams, until Barret suddenly grabbed at Cid's shoulder.

"You left the gas on?"

"Course I didn't!" Cid shook his head, and advanced forward through the smoke, groping for the fire extinguisher that hung on the wall near the door.

"Tifa, I'm gonna get everybody out. You move all the alcohol as far away from this door as you can." I glanced upwards, knowing that above those creaking beams and the ceiling was Marlene in bed, where I'd tucked her up just an hour ago. Barret read my face and followed my eyes. "I'll sort Marlene. Just get going on this."

I nodded, and he closed the door and quickly moved towards the tables of people scattered about the bar. I didn't hear what he was saying, but soon the customers were all standing up, gathering jackets and bags, and heading towards the front door with a sense of determined urgency painted across their faces. I just did what Barret had told me to do, pulling the large bottles of spirits off the wall and piling them up in my arms. There were three doors to _Seventh Heaven_ – the front door, the kitchen door, and a third one at the far end of the bar that led into a beer garden. I headed out of that door, carefully placing the bottles on the ground and heading back inside for more. The bar was empty, now, and I could hear Barret and Cid swearing in the kitchen. It seemed that more smoke was pouring out from beneath the door, filling the bar, and it made my chest spasm convulsively. I leant against the bar for a moment, coughing, and then started dragging bottles off the shelves behind the bar, my arms screaming in protest as I tried and failed to lift a large barrel off the floor. I settled for rolling it before me, nudging it with my foot. I deposited my load outside again, and as I came back inside a third time, the front door swung open, and my brother and Cloud suddenly appeared through the smoke.

"Tifa! What the hell's going on?" Zack rushed over towards me, Cloud following closely, their faces set with determination. I started gathering more bottles up in my arms.

"There's a fire in the kitchen, Cid and Barret have it under control." As I spoke, Barret flung the kitchen door open.

"Yo, Zack, thought I heard your voice! We could really use your help!" Zack nodded silently, and I took the bottles outside, as he and Cloud headed for the kitchen. When I got back in the bar, I realised that there wasn't any more alcohol left in the bar, so I headed towards the kitchen to see if I could help. The smoke was thicker and stronger now, and when I pushed open it caught me right in the back of my throat and it was a struggle to breathe. Barret and Cid both had small extinguishers, blasting foam at the oven, and Zack and Cloud were filling buckets up with water at the sink. Zack turned, and saw me stood in the doorway. His eyes were as ablaze as the fire he was trying to put out.

"Tifa, go! Get out!"

Cloud's head whipped around, and the thing that stood out the most was that his eyes looked ... scared. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were crinkled into something that looked an awful lot like fear.

There was a small, girlish scream from above us, and I could hear Marlene's voice, calling fearfully for Barret.

"I'll get Marlene!" I called over to Barret, whose face was a mixture of fear and exhaustion.

"No, Tifa!" He yelled. I was heading towards the stairs at the back of the kitchen, when suddenly cool fingers were wrapped around my wrist and sharply pulled me back, just as there was a loud crack and a section of ceiling peeled away from between two beams and crashed down to the floor, right where I had been stood. I felt myself stumble back in shock, and two hands held my shoulders tight, keeping me upright. When I glanced over my shoulder, to see who had stopped me from being crushed beneath the rubble that had fallen, I found that it was Cloud.

Then Zack had come over, his face shining with sweat, and he was pushing me towards the kitchen door.

"Tifa, you need to get out of here, it's not safe!"

"I can help, I'm not a child! Marlene's still up there!"

"We'll get her, Tifa, just go, please!" I adamantly shook my head. He sighed heavily, and turned to Cloud. "Please ... just get her out of here." Cloud nodded firmly.

"You heard the man, Spiky!" Barret yelled over the loud roar of the fire, and then Zack was heading back towards the flames, and Cloud's fingers were laced around my wrist again and I was letting him pull me behind him, letting him drag me quickly through the bar and out of the front door. He pulled me some distance away, and we both stopped to cough loudly, breath hitching and throats rattling. When I looked up and took in my surroundings, I saw that there were lots of people crowded around the bar, stood almost in a perfect semi-circle, staring at the smoke that was still rising steadily. It looked like most of the village was there. In the crowd, near the front, I could see my father, and Aerith was stood beside him, her hand firmly on his arm. She looked like she was holding him back.

I straightened up, wheeling back around to look at the burning bar, and Cloud did the same. I could feel his warmth seeping through my side, could feel his fear and nervousness, and his steady but somewhat ragged breathing echoed loudly in my ear. As we stood watching, and I could feel myself growing colder and colder despite the great heat that radiated out from the fire, the front door to the bar crashed open quite suddenly, and Barret staggered out, carrying Marlene. I felt the cold that was steadily encasing me in an icy armour draw back slightly at this, seeing that the two of them were both alive and well. He stumbled forward, and Aerith was suddenly at his side, gently taking Marlene from him. He caught his breath, and then turned, making to go back inside, but my father held his arm tightly, shaking his head with purpose.

There was a loud bang from inside, and a crashing sound, and quite suddenly my hand shot out, clutching at Cloud's wrist. He grunted lightly in surprise, but didn't move away. I held on tightly, my fingers digging deep into his flesh as flames suddenly erupted upwards. There was another loud crash, and my voice escaped my lips.

"Zack!" I released Cloud's wrist and suddenly ran forward. All my anger at Zack from earlier that day had swiftly dissipated in the last ten minutes, and now all I could think about was him trapped, him burning, him _dying_ ...

"Tifa, no!" Arms shot out from behind me, looping around my shoulders and tightly restraining me. I didn't have to turn and look to know that it was Cloud, holding me in place and breathing deeply.

"Cloud, let me go! Zack could be in trouble!"

"I won't let you go back in there." He loosened his hold on me swiftly, but as I started forward, towards the bar, he surged past me and pushed me back. "Stay here. Don't follow me!"

He ran inside, just as there was another loud crash. There was no one to grab hold of now. All I could do was clench my fists and watch in the grim hope that I would see my brother and Cloud again. I glanced across the circle, and Aerith's eye caught mine. Her face was set, her green eyes shining with fervent hope, her hand firm upon Marlene's shoulder.

And then, just as the tell-tale siren of an approaching fire engine sounded, the heat died down, and there were no more crashes. The smoke hung hazily in the air, drifting sideways and upwards, but without the strength and thickness of before. I strained my eyes and listened hard, but I couldn't see or hear any of the roars of the fire. The front door was flung open, like when Barret had staggered out, and Cloud and I before him, and this time it fell forwards off its hinges, landing with a loud thump on the ground that sent clouds of dust and dirt spiralling upwards. My heart was thudding again, pounding against my ribcage and pressing urgently against the skin of my chest as a figure appeared through the dust and smoke. Cid stepped out into the night, his hair flattened with sweat and his face shining and grimy. He shook his head, and moved past the door towards the ambulance that had pulled up beside the fire engine that had just arrived, and as he moved I could see nasty burns cut into the skin on his arms. There was scattered applause from the people stood around.

_Please_, I found myself thinking. _Please. Please_. My dream, the one I'd had the first night I'd met Cloud, still haunted my memories. An image of Cloud, drenched in blood, being held up by my brother and Aerith. _Please_.

And then the two of them were coughing and staggering forward in the smoke and dust still floating in the air, Cloud's blond hair standing out like a beacon from the dark doorway. He had his arm around Zack, and seemed to be supporting him, but as Aerith ran forward, her face wet with happiness and left over fear, Cloud took his arm away, letting my brother be enveloped in Aerith's arms. I watched her holding him, and then my feet were driving me forwards, and I was stood beside them before I knew it, looking into Zack's grimy face. When he looked down into mine, I knew from the look in his eyes that all the animosity from before, and the remains of our heated argument, had been charred into oblivion the moment he'd seen the fire.

Aerith released him, standing back, her face shining with relief, and moved towards Cloud, her hand gently touching the side of his face which was streaked with a ribbon of blood. I looked at Zack, my body still hesitant, and then he had reached forward and swept me towards him, laying his cheek down upon the top of my head as I pushed my face down into his shoulder. His arms, still warm from the heat of the flames, circled round my back and pressed me to him.

"I'm sorry about this morning," I murmured, but he just held me tighter and made a shushing noise.

"I don't care about that." He muttered into my hair. My hands weakly moved up his back and my fingers dug into the material of his t-shirt, dragging the fabric down with the movement.

"I was so worried-"

"-It's over, Tifa. Relax." I nodded feebly, and then he gently let go of me, and he softly pushed me towards Cloud. Aerith had returned to Zack's side, her fingers lacing tightly with his, and Cloud was just stood there before me, his face hard but his eyes soft, the worry from before still etched across his forehead and sketched into the corners of his eyes.

My plan was just to stand before him and thank him, but suddenly my emotions took over and I was stumbling forwards and pressing myself against him. He tensed up immediately, like I knew he would, but it didn't bother me. I wound my arms around him, pressing my face into his shoulder like I had done with Zack, and his arms, slow but sure, were rising, and he gently placed his hands on my back, holding me loosely to him.

"Thank you," I whispered into his ear. He didn't reply but he didn't need to. It was all there, all the worry for Zack and maybe a small sliver for me, and the relief that no one was hurt, that we were all there alive and well. It was all there in his softened breathing and the way he closed his eyes. Right then I knew. I had probably known all along, deep down, but it had never really caught my eye. But it had been kindled that night just a few weeks ago, when Zack had taken me downstairs in the early hours of the morning and I had found _him_ sat there at my kitchen table, his eyes sad and his face tired. It had been fanned when he had shouted in the van, trying to stop Loz from hurting me, and had steadily grown until it had been almost completely snuffed out at the party, when I had flicked on the light switch at Yuffie's party. It had been lying in the base of my heart as dying embers since then, the light of it growing dimmer when I had seen the two of them through the bar window as I stood, hurt, in the pouring rain outside. And last night ... the simple act of his thumb running over the back of my hand had sparked it back to life, and now I was stood with my head on his shoulder, the smell of smoke, wood and burnt hair filling my nostrils and I remembered how he had run back for Zack, to protect my brother ... now I knew for sure. I was also sure that what I felt wasn't reciprocated – the image of Yuffie in his lap, her top askew, her neck bruised and her lips swollen, was still very prominent in my mind – but that didn't matter to me in that moment. Because, in that moment, I understood what had been tugging at me for the last week or so.

In that moment, I knew.

* * *

**Chibi: Well there you have it. I hope you enjoyed it! What I was going to end this chapter with will be at the start of the next chapter, which should be up soon. I hope you liked it, and please review as I like feedback! Constructive criticism makes my world go round.**

**Tara! x**


	9. Nine

**Chibi: Ahh this is one monumental chapter. You'll see why. The next one is even more monumental, but this one ranks pretty high too. There's not long to go, now - about three more chapters. It'll be ending soon!**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Please review!**

* * *

**Nine**

"Tifa ... we're gonna go home now."

I pulled myself away from Cloud, dragged my face away from the warmth and support that was his shoulder, and felt his arms drop from my back quickly. I turned around, to find my brother, my father and Aerith stood before me, looking tired, and in Zack's case filthy, and very ready to just go home and go to sleep.

"What about Barret and Marlene?"

"They've got a place to stay," my father told me gently. "They're staying with some friends."

I would have suggested that they'd stay with us – we were their friends too, after all – but I knew that wasn't my decision, and frankly our house seemed to be full enough already. That was a weird thought, I realised. Our house had always felt so empty, since I was ten years old. Suddenly I was thinking of our house as a brimming hive of activity, which in reality I knew wasn't true. Aerith may have joined us, and settled into our spare bedroom, but that didn't make us and our house any more alive than we were before. We still hung like ghosts, we had paled and were unsure, lingering sentiments of my mother, Zack's mother, my father's wife. The spot that had been left open had been half filled by Aerith, making the occupants of the house an even four again, but that didn't really make the house full once more.

"Come on," Zack murmured, turning away and wrapping an arm tightly around Aerith. "Let's go."

As they started walking away, my father following them after giving me a small smile, I noticed that Zack was limping, but it looked like he was very determined not to put any weight on Aerith for support. I wondered if he was hurt more than he was letting on.

"Are you coming back to ours?" I asked Cloud softly. I didn't look at his face – just continued to watch my brother and father heading down the long path towards our house in the distance, where it resided on the very outskirts of the village.

"If that's okay," he said. I nodded, and was taken by surprise when his arm suddenly settled around my shoulders. Having just figured out how I felt only minutes before – that it was _him_, had always been him, could only be him – I felt myself grow stiff with hope, confused by his actions but desperate to see his intention behind them. "Sorry," he told me quietly, and his fingers dug into the skin of the top of my arm. "Just ... please. I need to hold onto something."

I understood, then, that like my brother, Cloud was hurt more than he was willing to let on. I felt hurt, too, though – despite the fact that they were aching, bruised and battered from battling with a _fire_, of all things, whilst my hurt was emotional, I felt as weary as he appeared. He needed to hold onto _something_. That made my face scrunch up in a wince of pain, my eyebrows knitting together as I stared determinedly at the path ahead of us. I was glad that he couldn't see my face. My hurt began melting away, though, as we began to walk, because unlike Zack had been doing with Aerith, Cloud was actually putting his weight on me and relying on me to support him as he struggled with his lethargy to put one foot in front of the other. The skin of his arm against the base of my neck was smooth and comforting. I didn't care that although I knew how I felt, I knew he didn't feel the same because there was Yuffie, still in the picture and still taking from me what I wanted – like she always did – because for the next ten minutes I was allowed the privilege of walking home with Cloud Strife leaning on me, his breath broken and ruffling the top of my hair. I was certain that I could feel his heart, pounding with a ferocity that had to have come with the exertion of moving, because he just seemed to be exhausted, but now, when I look back on it, I think that the frantically beating heart I could hear must have been my own.

* * *

Home was a blur – a weary, spent blur – when I got home, and for a time I wasn't entirely sure of what I was doing. I just let my feet pull me upstairs, let my hands work my body out of my work clothes and into a pair of shorts, a camisole, my father's cardigan, fiddling with my hair and eventually just leaving it in the high ponytail I'd tied it in for work, and then my feet were dragging me back down the stairs and I was seating myself down on the sofa, curling my legs beneath me and loosely training my eyes on the buzzing vision of late night television. I could hear the noise in the kitchen of Zack, Aerith and Cloud, who were no doubt sat around the kitchen table like always, sharing my father's whiskey and speaking meaningless words that I couldn't bring myself to listen to, to care about. If I really, truly, worked my hearing, I could hear the dull thunk of the keys of my father's typewriter in his study rising and falling.

I stayed up later than everybody that night. I had never done that before. As the youngest in the family, I had always found myself as the first to retreat to bed in the evenings, and typically (if he was home) Zack would follow some time after me and then, finally, my father would flick out his study light, drain his glass and heave himself upstairs. It was routine, it was order, it was _normal_ for us and we never questioned it – just followed it. But now the routine was wrong, was messed up, was going backwards, because around half eleven I suddenly heard my father turn out his study light, give a sigh, and close the door, his footsteps heavy and detached on the stairs. After that, I heard Aerith saying her goodnights, and she poked her head around the door that separated the living room from the kitchen (our living room was long – the length of the hallway and the kitchen after it combined – and so it had two doors; one that opened into the hallway, and one that opened into the kitchen), and told me the same. Her voice seemed to shake as she did it, which immediately caught my attention – she was firm, our steady Earth in the mess of my family, and a tremor as she spoke was completely uncharacteristic. When I looked closely at her face, I saw that she wasn't smiling, like usual. She just looked sad and tired. She disappeared after my father, and so it was just me, my brother and Cloud left downstairs as the night grew older. I could feel myself growing older with it. I was fifteen but I felt so much older, sat in the living room watching television and ignoring the soft burr of their voices in the kitchen. I felt like I had lived through centuries. I felt like I had seen all that there was to be seen in this life – when in actuality I knew nothing.

* * *

"You're up late." My gaze flickered from the television screen to Zack, who was crossing the lounge to sit on the sofa opposite mine, and Cloud was following after him. They both had glasses of whiskey in their hands – like always – and Zack offered me his. I took it and sipped from it deeply, handing it back to him and rolling the taste around in my mouth with my tongue. "So ... watching something interesting?"

"Not really," I mumbled. I stretched my legs out in front of me, balancing them in the air and wriggling my feet that were returning from a state of numbness with painful awareness. I scratched absently at my knee, and when I glanced over to the other sofa, I saw Zack watching the television, and saw that Cloud's eyes were on my bare, out-stretched legs.

I realised, then, that I wasn't wearing what I normally wore around Cloud these days. The shorts were the only exception – come summer I wore shorts every day, if I could – but the slim fitting camisole clung to my skin and was so unlike the baggy t-shirts that belonged to my brother and father that he must have grown used to seeing me in. I wondered, and I wonder now, if the fact that I had chosen to dress differently that night, following the fire, my realisation of my feelings, and the way he leaned on me on the walk home, was a sub-conscious decision to try and get him to notice me. That made me feel embarrassed – it seemed cheap, to use my body and accentuate my curves and breasts to catch his attention, but now that his eyes were on me, subtly roaming my form as I pretended not to notice, and feigned joining Zack in watching the television screen, I felt a heat in my stomach that made me pleased that I had attracted his attention in that way.

After about forty minutes of near silence, as we sat watching the television screen with eyes that each seemed to hold some kind of sadness, Zack finally stood up. He leaned over and reached out a hand, as though to ruffle my hair, but he seemed to think better of it and stopped before his hand reached my head, and he pulled it back with a strange reluctance that I chose not to question. _I wouldn't have minded_, I wanted to tell him. _Honestly. It makes me feel safe when you do that_.

"I'm gonna crash," he said shortly, and he gave us each a nod. "Cloud, you wanna stay over?"

"I should probably go home," he murmured, but he made no motion of rising from his seat. Zack nodded again, and then he left the room, his feet sure and familiar on the footsteps like a well-wound clock.

For around a further five minutes, Cloud and I sat in silence. Then, suddenly, he stood up, and began heading towards the living room door – the one that led to the hallway. He stopped, before he went through it, and as he turned to look at me I could see his hand was clasped tight around the edge of the door, as though he was clinging to it for support.

"Good night," he murmured – in a voice so soft and quiet that I almost missed it. Then, before I had time to return it, he was gone, the front door closing behind him and I was left sitting on the sofa, shocked by his abrupt exit and wishing that I could have left the house with him.

* * *

It took my father just under a week to complete his new book. My father's editor, Zack and I considered this to be a great feat, but he just shook his head and told us that he couldn't fight against inspiration. Those words, as we sat in his editor's office in Junon, waiting to hold a meeting with his publishers, made me think back again to the incident with me, the hallway, and my mother's piano, and whether that had anything to do with this sudden surge of inspiration that he couldn't battle.

The night after he had spoken with his editor, exactly a week after the fire at _Seventh Heaven_, my father called Zack and I into the kitchen. Aerith was already there, sat at the table smiling as my brother and I seated ourselves down in the chairs we always sat in. My father sat down, too, opposite me at the round table, and he told us that he'd been given an advance by the publishers on his book, and that he was setting aside two parts of it for Zack and me.

"This is for you to spend on whatever you see fit," he said, and I knew as he spoke the words, that this was some kind of test – to see what we'd decide was fitting for us to spend his hard earned money on. When he told us how much he'd set aside, I was shocked – I had never even been able to comprehend owning so much money at just fifteen. My mind was blank and void of ideas of what to spend the money on – my only ideas for now was just leaving it to stew in the bank, and by the look of surprise on Zack's face, it looked like he was thinking the same thing too – and all I could think was that my father's book had to be really, really good to have provided him with that kind of advance payment.

As I sat there at the kitchen table, with my father, brother and Aerith, a smile stretched out on my face – not because of the money, but because he'd done it, he'd earned it, he'd gotten past it all after five years and now, maybe, we could too.

They each smiled with me, and Zack started laughing, and suddenly we were all laughing, and I felt a happiness in me that had been dead for so long and now erupted into my chest with a heat and swiftness that almost hurt but I revelled in it, enjoyed it, relaxed in my family's happiness.

The next day, I couldn't have remembered that happiness even I had tried.

* * *

The morning started out like any other morning that summer – I awoke to sunlight tempered with clouds, I stumbled downstairs and made breakfast with Aerith, ate with my family and showered and dressed. I contemplated going for a run, so I dressed in a pair of shorts, a black sports bra and, almost as an afterthought, pulled a loose, stretched white vest over the top that hung lightly. The weather was sunny and crisp, and for a while, before I began my run, I stood outside in the garden, ignoring the goosebumps that were rapidly rising on my arms like flesh that had been left behind by feathers, and I took my time as I fiddled with my hair, pulling it up high into a ponytail, and messing about with my fringe before deciding to just leave it as it was. I remember thinking how unseasonable the weather was, how autumn seemed to be coming far too quickly and that we had barely even gotten a taste of summer weather – when I look back now on that summer, the thing that jumps into my mind first is rain. It was only the end of August. In around two weeks, I would be going back to school. No doubt Cloud would be returning to Nibelheim soon.

We have a large oak tree in our garden, and the fact that on the ground at its base were dozens of acorns, still in their bases with short stalks protruding from the bottom simply reaffirmed my thoughts that the summer was nearly over. I picked one up, feeling it slip with ease out of the woody stand, and I rolled the acorn itself around in my hand, examining the green flesh with curiosity. I fumbled with it for a while, noting the smoothness with which it tumbled around in the shell of my hand and bumped between my fingers, and I threw it up in the air a few times, catching it with ease.

"Hey,"

Zack's voice startled me. I had just thrown the acorn up into the air, and when he spoke I jumped slightly, and missed its landing. It dropped to the floor and I sighed, bending over and scrabbling loosely for it. As I was bent over, I suddenly felt a sharp swat against my backside.

"What the-"

I stood upright immediately, looking round at Zack with confusion, as he had been standing behind me. He was holding himself awkwardly, now, and his face started colouring slightly with the realisation of what he'd done.

"Why on earth did you do that?"

"I ..." he shifted uncomfortably, his eyes glued to the ground and refusing to meet mine. "I ... I don't really know."

I stared at him for a moment, feeling confusion push and pull at the contours of my face, until finally Zack raised his head and frowned, giving me a look that was partly unreadable, and also partly said _I'm sorry_. He didn't say the words out loud, but we both felt them.

Everything was floating in the air with a heaviness, like dampness, and I could feel it pressing down on us, on me, flooding through every open crevice in my body and filling me with an uncertainty and uneasiness that made me want to shudder.

"Tifa," Zack murmured, staring upwards at the sky that was the same colour as his eyes. "How do you feel about Cloud?"

"I ..."

I didn't have a chance to finish my sentence, and I still don't know, even now, if I would have opened up and told him that I had recently come to the understanding that, despite the fact that I still didn't know him very well and had only met him at the start of the month, Cloud was rapidly becoming the most important person in the world to me and I knew now that I would do and give anything to be able to protect him in some way. I might have just said that Cloud was a friend – _his_ friend – and nothing more. I might not even have answered him. I don't know, because as I was mustering up the effort to say _something_, anything, my phone started ringing a cheerful, annoyingly upbeat tune from the pocket of my shorts.

I left it for a moment, as the noise echoed throughout the garden, because I wanted to look at Zack – look at his face, see why he had been asking me that question, but the ringtone began to reach a frustratingly jolly crescendo and I submitted, pulling the phone out of my pocket, opening it and jamming it against my ear.

"Hello?"

"Tifa," Yuffie's voice sounded dead on the other side of the call. "I need you to come by my house."

I frowned. We may have not talked so much in the last few weeks – I couldn't bring myself to talk to her, after seeing her and Cloud together at her party, and then in the window of the bar as I stood outside in the cold and rain – but Yuffie had been my best friend for the majority of my life, and because of that I could immediately tell that something was wrong. Her breathing was hazy and wavering, she sounded lost and sad and she just sounded _wrong_. She didn't sound like the Yuffie I knew.

"Yuffie, what's wrong?"

There was a noise in the background, like a grunt, but I couldn't tell if it came from her or someone she was with.

"Just come," she asked weakly. "Please ... I-" she cut off for a moment as there was an indistinct murmuring in the background, but her voice swiftly returned. "-I have something I want to show you."

"Now?"

"Yes ... come now, please."

"O-okay," I said awkwardly. The call was ended on her side abruptly, and I slowly withdrew the phone from my ear. Zack looked concerned.

"Everything okay?"

"I'm not sure," I murmured. I slid the phone into my pocket. "She wants me to go to her house. Says she has something to show me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Well ... be careful," he said.

I had already started walking down the garden path, towards the road that would lead me up to Yuffie's house further up in the village. I nodded over my shoulder as I walked.

"Always," I told him.

* * *

Within twenty minutes I was knocking on the door to Yuffie's significantly larger-than-most house. There was no answer, but that wasn't too unusual. For a long time, I'd been more than welcome to let myself in and find her inside. I noticed that her parents' car was gone from the driveway, but that wasn't unusual – they both worked long, heavy hours and so Yuffie was constantly left at home on her own. When she didn't answer the door after a few minutes, I hesitantly opened it myself, letting myself into the vast entrance hall and shutting the door behind me. The memory of her wavering, uncertain and very uncharacteristic voice was still very fresh in my mind.

"Yuffie?" I called out.

"Upstairs," she replied. Her voice sounded strangely muffled.

I frowned – I knew her, I knew this wasn't right – but regardless, I just shook my head and began making my way up the stairs to her bedroom, absently looking at the few photographs that lined the walls on the journey up.

Her bedroom door was closed, and I knocked loosely on it before twisting the handle and pushing it open. "Yuffie?"

"Tifa, go – run!"

The door was suddenly slammed shut behind me, and I realised that we were not alone in the room. Kadaj Shinra was standing behind me, his hand tight on the door handle, keeping me inside, and he was grinning.

"Please – don't hurt her!"

I turned my attention to Yuffie, and I realised why her voice, when she'd called down to me from up the stairs, was so strained – she was being held back by an arm around her neck, and another around her waist, and those arms belonged to Loz.

"What's going on?" I asked, and I was pleased that my voice stayed steady, and didn't shake.

"I was hoping that _you_ could tell _me_," Kadaj said slowly. He was moving away from the door, forcing me to walk backwards across the room as he advanced gradually towards me. Suddenly, two hands shot out from behind me, holding me in much the same position as Yuffie. A sweep of hair that brushed my bare shoulder told me that it was Yazoo.

"What are you _talking _about?"

I chanced a glance at Yuffie's face; she looked scared and upset, her eyes wide and shining as she fought back frightened tears. There was a rapidly growing red mark on the side of her face, which as it matured began to take the shape of a handprint.

"Three weeks ago, Yuffie had a party," Kadaj was saying. He stepped right in front of me, and very gently wrapped a hand around my upper arm. There was almost no pressure beneath his touch – it could almost have been viewed as an affectionate gesture – but as he spoke his next words, his grip tightened with sharp painfulness that made me cry out at the suddenness. "She cheated on me!"

"No," I whispered. "She didn't, honest ..."

I wasn't doing this – lying to Kadaj Shinra's face, which in itself was a very dangerous action – for her, for my best friend, but for Cloud, to protect him, but what Kadaj said next stunned me so much that all my opinions of Yuffie, of my best friend who I had gradually come to lose almost all respect for, rapidly changed.

"Now Yuffie here has been keeping quiet," he said, his hand still tight around my arm. "Hasn't breathed a word. Refuses to give me a name. And that's why _you're_ here."

I was shocked into silence – she hadn't betrayed him. She'd kept quiet, for his sake. The Yuffie I thought I knew only looked out for number one – herself – and yet here she was, protecting Cloud Strife, a boy she'd kissed and possibly done more with at a party three weeks ago. She was holding back his name from a boy who would surely kill him.

"Tell me!" Kadaj snapped suddenly. I vehemently shook my head and he made a queer, growling sound and then his hand swung back and connected with jarring force with the side of my face. I tried my best to keep silent, just let my head snap to the side and stare at the ground with deep, heaving breaths, thankful that my fringe covered my terrified eyes from Kadaj's view, but a short cry slipped out of my mouth that hung in the silence.

Kadaj shook his head.

"I can't hold it," he almost moaned. Loz was shaking his head, too, but his action was more persuasive and ruling, like he was trying to dissuade Kadaj from something.

"Hold it, Kadaj," he said. His arms were still tight around Yuffie, whose gaze was on the floor. Her head had fallen forward and she hung limp, like a doll being held upright. "Just get the name, and then we'll go and find him and sort this out."

Kadaj's eyes flickered towards my face.

"I'll get it," he breathed heavily, his mouth hot against my ear. "She just needs a little ... incentive."

And with that, Yazoo had released me from his hold and suddenly I found myself being dragged forward and pushed down to the ground. Yuffie's shouts were echoing in my ears like plaintive bleats from a sheep as Kadaj's hands were suddenly burrowing down and dragging my vest up. I adamantly fought back – slapping his hands away and kicking my feet in the direction of between his legs – but he slapped me sharply again and then my hands were being pulled up, above my head and being pressed firmly to the ground, and I assumed that they were being held there by Yazoo.

"Get off, stop it!"

The button on my shorts was being snapped open, the zipper was dragged down and as I squirmed, still kicking out with blows that he dodged impressively, I saw him rear back and begin opening the zipper on his trousers.

"You want this, I know you do," he spat.

"Please, leave her alone!" Yuffie wailed helplessly.

"Just get the name, Kadaj," Loz muttered.

He was easing his trousers down, now, and I could see his underwear and that he was straining against it, and as he moved closer down upon me, his hands tight around my thighs, all I could think about was that I probably deserved this – I was the one who had been desperate to lose my virginity – and now, at fifteen and at the hands of Kadaj Shinra, I was going to regret my wish for the rest of my life.

It pains me, even now, knowing that it was me – I said it, I did it.

As hot fingers began roughly pulling my shorts down, a final leap of desperation tumbled out of my throat that made me gasp and sob as soon as I'd said it.

"Cloud Strife ... it was Cloud Strife."

Kadaj grinned widely.

"I knew it," he whispered.

But still his fingers were moving and he was pressing down against me.

"No!" Yuffie yelled, her shout ripping through the silence that had been cast over us all as soon as I'd said it, done the unthinkable. "She gave you the name! J-just leave her alone!"

Kadaj raised his eyebrows, and he pulled back, away from me, kneeling on the ground and doing his trousers up again, his eyes trained on Yuffie's weak, sobbing form that was only being held upright by Loz's firm grip.

"Fine," he said, standing up and pulling on her wrist, his fingers wrapped so tightly around it that it was a wonder that the wrist didn't snap under the force of it. She gave a soft whimper. "You're coming with us." He looked sharply at me. "You tell him ... you tell Strife, to meet me, and that if he doesn't," he suddenly pulled his shirt aside and I saw something sticking tucked into an inside pocket – a glint of metallic warning. He had a gun. "If he doesn't, then I'll blow her brains out."

"What the-" it all seemed so unreal, like a dream; this was Gongaga, things like this - guns, rape and death threats - didn't happen here. But the fire in his eyes made me all too certain that he would be true to his word. I knew I had to take him seriously, and so I felt I had to ask: "Where?"

He looked around almost wildly for a destination, and then he found one and gave it. "Up the mountain," he said, and he seemed to be panting as Yuffie still struggled against his hold. "_You_ know where." He said these last words meaningfully, very pointedly – and I did know, I knew exactly where. Then, he was leaving.

"No – Yuffie -"

"Tifa!"

Kadaj Shinra was bundling my best friend out of the door, and Yazoo and Loz were following him, leaving me, shaking and weak like a newborn deer, in a pathetic little heap on the ground.

As I lay there sobbing softly, holding my arms tightly against myself like some sort of broken embrace, I remembered the party, the morning after, stepping out into the dawn with Aerith, my brother, and Cloud, and the ghost of a cockerel's crow haunted my memory again. I remembered the words I'd thought to myself, and how I had reflected on the previous night's happenings – an image of Yuffie on Cloud's lap, their heavy breathing and the pain that had flooded my chest in despair. _That is for betrayal. Who would the traitor be?_

I let out a pained cry, hating every part of myself for being so weak – so helpless. I couldn't protect him; I couldn't do what I'd been so desperate to do for him.

Me. I was the traitor.

* * *

It was raining when I left the house. It took me a while to pull myself together, to coerce myself into a sitting position and then to finally force myself to stand and will my legs to move, to work, to take me forwards and down the stairs and towards _him_. I was still sobbing – soft, trembling little ones that kept me holding myself tight – as I stumbled forwards, mud splashing up at my legs as I took every painstaking step closer and closer home. I didn't even know if he'd be there, surely the logical place to start searching would have been at his own house, but I was so confused and angry with myself that all I could think about was getting myself back home and how I was going to explain to him what I had done – that I had done the worst possible thing, that I'd betrayed him.

My front door swung open too easily at my touch, and I staggered inside, slamming it shut behind me, and then my legs suddenly gave way and I clutched desperately at the wall beside me as a fresh wave of sobs took over me and I stood there for a few moments, shaking and crying and trying to keep myself up until finally, my legs stopped quivering and I felt like I could move forward.

When I reached the top of the stairs, what caught my eye was the open door of the guest bedroom. I edged closer to it, and found Zack and Cloud sat inside, on the bed. Cloud was sitting beside my brother, looking distinctly uncomfortable, whilst Zack was almost doubled over, his hands shaking violently and his breathing cutting short rapidly so that he kept drawing great, desperate gasps.

"What's going on?"

"She's gone ... Aerith's gone."

"What?" I crossed the room, away from the doorway until I was standing in front of the two of them where they sat on the bed. My first thought was that Kadaj had come and taken her, had kidnapped her, but when I actually thought about it I realised that he wouldn't have had the time to get down here before me, kidnap my brother's girlfriend, and get out of here without someone noticing. I saw, clutched in his hands, a sheet of paper. When I glanced around the room, I saw that it was as bare as it had been when I'd first shown Aerith in, at the start of the month.

"She's left ... she just up and went, and left me a note. She says it's for my own good."

"What the hell-"

"-What happened to you?"

Cloud's soft voice sliced through my exclamation and made Zack look up suddenly, and his eyes widened as he took in my appearance. I glanced down, saw the bruises on my thighs, the rings of red around my wrists, and felt the head radiating from my cheek – no doubt I had a handprint that matched Yuffie's.

I looked desperately at Cloud, trying to make him understand with my eyes.

"Kadaj ... he – he tried to ... he was going to-"

Zack swore suddenly and his fist clenched around the paper in his hands, crushing it, as he realised what I was saying and what his best friend had done – or had tried to do.

Cloud was standing up, his face contorted with what looked like anger. "I knew this would happen," he was saying. He started heading towards the door when I cried out to him – if he had feelings for Yuffie, like I was sure he did, then I had to deliver my message.

"He's got Yuffie," I said weakly. "He's got her ... he wanted me to tell you. He said for you to meet him up-up the mountain. He'll kill her if you don't. Cloud, I'm so sorry-"

Cloud was crossing the room again, in opposite direction – towards me. He pulled my face towards his and kissed me.

"It's okay," he said, and then he was gone, out of the room, down the stairs, and the front door was left banging in his wake.

My knees gave way, again, and I found myself sat on the floor, Zack's eyes on me and wide with surprise, and I knew then that I was still here, still in the room I used to play in, with the border of ducks chasing each other along the top of the walls, almost touching the ceiling. But I wasn't six years old anymore, playing with my brother in a nursery and trying to fly high. I was older, I was sat in a spare, mostly unused bedroom and I was shaking.

I was fifteen. I was still a child.

* * *

**Chibi: well - there it is. I guess it's what some people have been waiting for! Poor little Tifa thinking he liked Yuffie. Heh. **

**Well, I hope it was okay. Please review I beg of you. Please.**

**Haha well okay, see you soon for the next chapter!**

**xx**


	10. Ten

**Chibi: Yes, I know, very speedy update. I have had a sudden burst of inspiration though and it just commands me to write! Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter. It's fairly pivotal ... so, as always, I love me a good review please!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Ten**

I knew that Zack was talking to me, his face hovering in front of mine as he knelt down before me and held onto my shoulders and shook me, trying to get a response from me, but something was wrong with my hearing and all I could hear was a strange, faint buzzing and all I was truly aware of was the movement of my brother's lips. They formed shapes, pliable and flexible, shifting and morphing into words that must have passed my ears by.

_He kissed me_.

They were the only words I could hear, dancing through my mind in a naive gait, almost ignoring the fact that he'd ran after Kadaj, was heading up the mountain and was surely walking to his death.

_Aerith left_.

Those were the words that joined the other three next – two short, monosyllabic words that should have gauged some kind of feeling, emotion, at their release, but I felt nothing. Then the words started confusing themselves, melding and twisting until I had an uneven medley circling my mind that made me shut my eyes on Zack's soundless shouts. _Kissed left he Aerith me left kissed Aerith he me ..._

"Tifa!" A final shake that snapped my head back and words that cut sharply through the fog in my mind were the catalysts that rudely brought me back to reality. "Tifa, what happened?"

"Zack ..."

"Did Kadaj, did he ... you know?"

I shook my head limply. He grabbed hold of my arms and roughly pulled me upwards, his face softening in relief. We stood with uncertainty in the middle of Aerith's empty room, our empty spare room, our long-gone nursery with a pattern of ducks drifting along a border.

"Tifa, he'll kill him."

"I know," I whispered wetly. Panic overflowed my vision and I couldn't see anything, just the carpet beneath my feet as I stared with heaving effort at the floor and tried to arrange my thoughts. Footsteps echoed away but for some time I couldn't move, couldn't think, could barely _breathe_, because Zack's words were pounding in my head with a painful truth that made me want to shout out, deny it, to fall into the bed beside me and sleep until I was young again, or until I was old, until I had passed all of this by and was safe, alone – like always – and living my old, drifting life of runs up the mountain and staring at the sky.

When I finally managed to pull my head upright, to focus my vision, ready to enquire as to what we should do next, I found that my brother was gone. The front door was banging, like it had been thrown open with unheeding force, and I could hear the pouring rain – _Biblical_, my mother had always described it when it was like this – and I was alone. Logic would have told me to stop, to think about what I was doing, to get a coat or calm down and talk to someone, but logic had no place in my motions at that time and so I just concentrated on running down the stairs, across the hallway and towards the swinging front door. I was almost there, almost in the unending downpour, when the door to my father's study opened and he, my father, was grabbing hold of my arm with a firmness in his grip that I wouldn't have thought possible and he was holding me back, denying me my goal.

"Dad, let me go! I have to go out there -"

"You are _not_ going out there, Tifa! You'll get sick again, and this time you might not be so lucky!"

"Dad, I can't stay here! Cloud – Kadaj – I ... I have to go to him!"

My father's mouth snapped open and closed, like Zack's had been doing in my eyes just minutes before, and I tried with all my heart to make him understand with the fierceness with which I clutched at his arm, the stubbornness with which I held his gaze, and the wildness I knew was shining in my eyes.

"Dad, _please_. You don't understand. I have to go to him."

When I look back on it now, I can see how absurd the request was. The rain was pouring so hard that every time a drop hit the ground, dirt shot back up into the air behind it in a fountain of brown that spouted all over the path outside. I had only just recovered from my last incident in the rain – a mild but serious case of pneumonia. Kadaj had a gun.

Why should he do it? Why should he, my father – Livingston Fair – let me, his fifteen year old daughter, run out into the rain after a boy she barely knew?

Because he loved her.

"Go," he all but whispered. He pressed his forehead against mine, his hands tight on my shoulders, and I knew then that everything I'd felt over this summer, every last shred of animosity and anger towards him and any he felt for me, had left us the moment that rain had started falling and I'd begged him to let me go out after Cloud. "Go. I love you."

As I nodded, and started heading through the door, I picked up my pace and began running, my feet surprisingly firm and steady as they beat the well known and worn path that I had run so many times. My father called out of the door to me: "Be careful!"

"Always!" I cried over the weather.

Strangely, as I ran, I felt like laughing.

* * *

Zack was a blur ahead of me – a dark, twitching haze skidding through the loose mud on the ground as he fought against the traction and urged himself onwards, towards the faint but thankfully visible dash of blonde I could see far ahead of us at the base of the mountain, weak and fading in the darkness of the air but still there, still existing.

"Cloud!" My brother roared. Cloud stopped where he was, at the start of the incline, ready to head upwards and towards the summit, and as I drew closer behind my brother, who was slowing down in his approach, I could see that his hair, despite the fact that it was sodden with rain, was, if possible, sticking up and out more than ever. Zack stopped before him, panting, and finally I skidded to a halt beside them. Cloud turned on me angrily.

"What are you doing out here?" He glared at Zack, too, who was staring at him with the same stoutness and obstinacy as I had before, when I held my father's gaze. "Both of you! You shouldn't be here. It's nothing to do with you two. Go home."

"You didn't think I'd let you go on alone, did you?" Zack asked. He reached forward, still breathing heavily, and placed a strong hand on Cloud's shoulder, holding him firmly. I saw that his eyes were shining with the same love that they did when he sometimes looked at me. "We're friends, right?"

Cloud softened, and he too reached out a hand, which landed on my brother's shoulder with the familiarity of a comrade.

I found my voice, which expelled itself from my body with a soft, shaking tone that made his eyes grow sad.

"I can't leave you," I told him. His hand found mine, squeezing it tightly.

"You don't have to do this," he told us, his gaze shifting to stare up the mountain path that was barely clear in the shower. "This is my problem."

Zack and I said nothing, just held onto him with an unwavering grip, and then the three of us began our ascent of the mountain path.

* * *

By the time I was around five years old, I knew the trail up the mountain better than I knew my house, my garden, my family and my toy collection – the four of us, my mother, father, brother and I, used to walk it regularly together, and in time I could walk ahead of my family, moving as quickly as I could on my short, stumbling legs, and I would sometimes lead the way. Other times, Zack would lead, or my mother whilst my father carried me on his back. Whoever led, one thing never changed – this was something we all knew together, something we shared that wasn't a surname and a house. This path – this straightforward, gradually steep path – was ingrained into my memory so well that I could recall, without a moment to think, every twist and every curve of dirt. Though I continually associate that walk now with the fall of rain, with the spreading of blood and the echo of gunfire, I can still dredge up from my memories the feel of the sun on my face, my mother's hand soft around mine, and my brother's eager smile.

Walking that path with Zack and Cloud, in the pattering rain and the darkening sky, I felt a queer lightness that I couldn't understand. I felt as though I was walking towards an end, but my mind seemed to have already accepted it. Instead of fear and terror, the only thing I could really focus on was the beat of my shoes on the path beneath me, Cloud beside me, and my brother on his other side, and the echo of memories that would never, could never, truly leave me.

* * *

What struck me as odd, as we breached the summit and saw Kadaj and Yuffie standing side by side, was the fact that he wasn't restraining her, or keeping her close to him, in any way. She was free to move away, run back down the path we'd trodden, and out of this life, but she didn't because she seemed to know that Kadaj was a man of his word. She stayed beside him, not too close, but within the right proximity that he could grab hold of her if needs be. Her face, despite her obvious efforts to calm herself and remain unbothered, showed how frightened she was, and how this was the last thing that she would have expected to happen.

I remembered the years before – being young together and ignoring boys, concentrating on dolls and the television and begging my father to make us his famous barley tea with a spoonful of sugar in it – and I realised how much, over the last few weeks in which we'd slowly, inevitably, drifted apart from each other, I had truly missed her, because she was my best friend.

The gun glinted at Kadaj's side.

"And here I was thinking you wouldn't have the guts to show up," he drawled, his eyes tight on Cloud. The moment we got close enough, his hand shot out and grabbed hold of Yuffie's arm and held it so tightly that she let out a whimper of pain. Kadaj saw Zack through the dark.

"What are you doing here, Fair?"

My brother, staring stoically at his own best friend, betrayed no hint of remorse for his choice.

"I'm here to make things right," he told Kadaj. I remember thinking how odd that statement was, because Zack had done nothing wrong – this argument, this _disagreement_, so to say, was between Cloud and Kadaj. And yet, Zack was holding himself with a heaviness that spoke of a burden of guilt as though he had as much blame in this spite as either of them. "But you have to let Yuffie go, now. Cloud has done as you asked. He's here."

Kadaj wasn't particularly reluctant in releasing his hold on Yuffie – in fact, he all but pushed her towards me. She clung to my arms, burying her face in my shoulder, as I gently held her and tried to keep her calm.

"Yuffie, go home." Zack's words were pointed and clipped. Yuffie looked up at me with a mixture of trepidation and a seeking of assurance, and I nodded at her.

"I don't want to leave you," she whimpered. Her sharp little fingers were digging into arms like arrows.

"I'll see you back home," I told her. She grudgingly backed away from me, heading towards the path we'd just emerged from, and she quickly looked back at me, over her shoulder, looking for a final oath. "I promise," I told her firmly. She nodded weakly, and then she was gone, her form melting away into the haze of rain and mist.

My brother and his former best friend stood staring at each other, as though they were sizing each other up, but I could see that there was sadness in Zack's eyes.

"Kadaj, stop this."

"He should have known better – you should have known better!"

I knew then, as they fired phrases at each other with looks of pain, that this wasn't about Cloud, Yuffie, and her party – this was about something that to Kadaj was much, much bigger. This was about Cloud replacing him as Zack's best friend. I got the feeling that the infidelity issue (which seemed ridiculous, when I thought about it, because Kadaj and Yuffie weren't even _dating_) was just an excuse, a reason to do what he was trying to do. A reason to get Cloud out of the way. But when I saw my brother, remembered how he'd reacted to the news that Kadaj had tried to _rape_ me – I don't like to say it out loud but essentially that was what it was, that was what he'd tried to do – I knew that there was no chance now. Their friendship, to Zack, was long buried, long gone.

"You set the fire, didn't you? The fire at _Seventh Heaven_?" I asked Kadaj softly. He didn't say anything, tried hard to give nothing away, but I could see it in the way his face twitched involuntarily. "Why would you do that? You knew all those people were in there. Someone could have died!"

"Because I thought _he'd_ be in there!" He roared, pointing the gun at Cloud. We all froze, not daring to take a step, not daring to say a word, in case his finger slipped, tightened, did something to pull the trigger. "I thought that he'd be in there, and so I set the fire because I thought it would get rid of him!"

He kept shaking his head, like he was frustrated, annoyed with himself, and he reached up a hand to wipe away tears that I had only just noticed were there. He was _crying_. His eyes were wide and glassy and, despite the gun at his side, his height and build, and the timbre of his voice, he just reminded me of a child who'd got it wrong, but couldn't quite work out why.

"Kadaj," Zack breathed, tentatively reaching out a hand towards his former, old friend. "We can help you-"

"-I hate this place," Kadaj said heavily. The gun was pointing at the floor now, his hand loose around it, and I found myself hoping that he'd drop it so that one of us could pick it up and just take it away from him – take the child's toy away. "I hate this ridiculous, tiny village." He stared upwards, into the rain, not seeming to care that it was falling directly into his eyes. Every word he spoke, I – bizarrely – found myself agreeing with. "I hate how you can't say something without someone else hearing it. I-" his voice cracked considerably, and he again dragged a hand across his eyes, wiping away a mixture of tears and rain. "- I hate it all. But weirdly, most of all ..." he drew in a deep, heavy breath, and then he lowered his eyes from the sky, and his gaze hung straight on Zack. "I hate people who come in and mess everything up."

His hand twitched and suddenly, he had aimed the gun and fired, and Cloud let out a cry of pain, scarlet blossoming out through his shirt like an opening flower as he clutched at his stomach, his knees shaking.

"Cloud!" I found myself shouting. I went to go to his side but Zack's hand shot out and held my wrist firm. I could almost read his mind, knew what he was saying as he anxiously watched Kadaj's flexing, twitching face with fiery but confused eyes. _No sudden movements_. Cloud was kneeling on the floor, his hands tight at his stomach and there was such pain crawling across his face that it was all I could do to heed my brother's words, to stay where I was, standing in the pouring rain watching the boy who'd shot him, caused this pain, for signs of further movement. Seeing Cloud like that, doubled over in the pouring rain, his hands uselessly trying to stem the blood that I could see was slipping through his fingers and down the back of his hands, made me remember the dream I'd had, the one I'd had just before I'd met him, the one I'd caught a flash of the night of the fire as I waited anxiously for his and Zack's return. My brother and Aerith, holding him upright, blood pouring and their faces dead. I wanted to shake my head, convince myself that it couldn't happen, not only because it was just a dream but because she had gone, _Aerith isn't here anymore_, but as Cloud gave a soft moan of pain that seemed to clasp like a fist around the very stem of my heart, I found my hands shaking as I realised with every second that passed and every drop of blood that began pooling on the wet ground before him, that this might be the end.

I wanted to cry out, to scream, to scratch and kick and just _hurt_ Kadaj. It wasn't fair! _I've only just got him, only just found him_, I wanted to tell him. _Don't take him away from me!_

"Kadaj, please," Zack said weakly, and I noticed that his voice was wavering and cracking as he said it. I wondered if it was because of Cloud, kneeling on the floor and clutching at himself with bloodied hands, or because of his former best friend, standing in the rain in the dark of evening with a gun in his hand and with sad, confused eyes, or even if it was because of both reasons. "I ... I understand-"

"-No, you don't," Kadaj spat out. "You ... you just come home from university, and there's me thinking nothing's changed, we'll be back to normal because you're my friend, your my _best_ friend ... and suddenly you've got _him_-" he cocked his head at Cloud, who had managed to look up at us with frightened, pained eyes that made my lip tremble. "- and, you've got _her_, that girl, and I'm gone - out of the picture. Replaced." He shook his head, the gun again loose in his hands. "Well, Fair, where is she now? Where's your girl?"

"She's gone," my brother murmured, his face stiff and unyielding. "She left."

"Exactly," Kadaj said. "Because of me. Because _I told her to leave_."

Zack said nothing, gave nothing away, but I knew that he must have been kicking himself, having taken in Kadaj's words. Kadaj was saying, effectively, that Zack himself had caused Aerith to go.

"Just stop it."

The words frightened me, took me by surprise, because up until now everyone had been cautious and wary with what they said, not wanting to anger Kadaj any more than he already was. But these words, which cut through the dark and rain sharper than any knife, were sure to cause some reaction. What frightened me more, though, as we all stood in silence in the aftermath of the harsh words, was the fact that they came from me.

Kadaj trained his unsteady eyes on me, and I resisted the urge to take a step back. I tried to regulate my breathing as I watched his hands clench and relax persistently against the metal of the gun as he waited for me to keep speaking, to continue, to anger him further.

"You – you're better than this!"

"You keep quiet, little Teefy Fair," he said coolly.

Strangely, I was trying to reason with him, because I understood. _Hell is others_, someone once said. I don't know who he was, but I bet he lived in a tiny, isolated village.

"I understand," I was saying. I was looking him right in the eye, ignoring the rain that slid through my eyelashes and pooled between the hood and shell. I was trying to make it right.

"No one does," he muttered.

Even through the rain that was slipping down his face with a speed I didn't understand, I could see tears breaching his lids and making a path over his skin amongst the water.

For a moment, I thought it was alright – I thought that Zack and I had managed to get through to him. But as a great crack of thunder rolled across the mountain, quivering over us and blanketing the village, he put the gun to his head and fired.

* * *

**Chibi: well ... there you have it.**

**There's only three chapters left now!**

**The story will be ending soon :( hopefully you've all enjoyed it so far!**

**Thank you for reading, and please drop a review!**


	11. Eleven

**Chibi: Yes, I know, crazily fast updating. But if it's written, I might as well - right? Hopefully this will satisfy some people! Every review has been saying _don't let Cloud die!_ Haha. I'd like to take this moment to thank everybody who has reviewed this story. It really means a lot. I'm sorry that I haven't replied to the reviews but it truly means so much to me to get continual feedback from such supportive readers! Thank you very much.**

**So - enjoy Eleven!**

* * *

**Eleven**

Her fingers, always so soft and slender, were cool at my neck as she gently shook me awake. I had been asleep so deeply that it took me some time to understand, to become aware, to realise where I was and that she was trying to wake me up and rouse me from the warmth of my bed that shielded me like a cocoon from the cool, November air. I wanted to tell her no, to leave me alone, to give me a few more hours sleep because it was still dark, the air was still quiet and my bones were too heavy to move, but all that came out was a low, pained moan as her breath slipped down my ear.

"Come on, Tifa. Time to get up."

"No ..."

I warily sat up, my hair in its customary braid sliding off of my shoulder and down my back as she pulled open my curtains. The sky outside was still dark, tinged with a soft, almost invisible hue of orange across the base that made it feel like it was dusk, when really I knew this was the beginnings of a dawn that was coming far too early for my liking.

"Come on, I have a surprise!"

She ended my protests by slipping her hands under my armpits and lifting me easily from the bed, putting me down onto the cold wooden floor and ignoring my whimpers as my pyjama covered backside connected with the ground. She rifled through a drawer, selected some underwear, a vest, a blouse, trousers and a thick jumper and she put them on the floor beside me, already pulling my pyjama top up and over my head.

"Get dressed, and quickly! I'm just going to wake your brother up."

She left my bedroom door open, and as I reluctantly started dressing myself with hands that shook with the crisp, early morning air, I could hear an objection from next door as my mother roused Zack. I could hear him through my bedroom wall – _no, no no no, I won't, it's too early Mum, I won't_ – but then I assumed she must have subjected him to the same treatment as me, because suddenly there was a thud and a yelp as my mother made shushing noises with a desperation tainted with humour. _Mama that's cold! Mum!_

I chanced a glance at the clock on my bedroom wall – the face was the shape of a balloon, and below it, a teddy bear was holding onto the string. Its legs were the pendulum, swinging in a fashion that had always irked me, but I had always remained quiet because it had been hers, my mother's, and then it had been Zack's, and now it was mine, and I was just another member of a long line of Fair's, née Lockhart, who possessed this clock that marred my bedroom wall. It was five in the morning – a fact that made the air shoot out of me in a great, built up expulsion as I pulled the last item of clothing, the jumper, over my head.

She came back into the room, to see how I was getting on, and I frowned at her, my face that was still only six years old crumpling up in confusion and annoyance at being forced to get up at this early hour.

"Why are we up so early?"

"I told you, it's a surprise. Now hurry up, we need to get going."

"What about breakfast? I'm hungry! Is Dad coming?"

"Dad has to work. It's just going to be you, me and your brother. We'll have breakfast when we get back. Are you finished?" I nodded, and she quickly helped me make my bed, dragging the quilt that was still warm up and over the soft, worn sheet and down to rest on the familiar, tempting pillow. I yawned loudly, deliberately – not even bothering to cover my mouth with my hand – as she patiently took my hand and led me downstairs. Zack stumbled down after us, his hair even at nine years old beginning to fall into a strange, spiked style that I knew none of us in the family would have wanted to change.

Gatsby circled our legs as my mother pushed our arms into coats, wrapped scarves tight around our necks, slid gloves over our fingers and pressed hats down tight over our heads. The cat purred, meowed, begged to be fed and to be let outside for the first time – we had only had the cat for a month and he still wasn't allowed outside, and was still becoming accustomed to living in our house. We felt that he wasn't ready to explore Gongaga yet.

"Shh, Gatsby," my mother whispered, reaching down to scratch the fur between his ears. "Go back to sleep."

"Lucky cat," Zack muttered. My mother shot him a grin.

We were bundled into the car in the early morning dim, buckled into our seats by Mum's easy, trained hands and then she was shutting the doors, buckling herself into the driver's seat, and pulling out of the drive with a smoothness that came with the experience of living in Gongaga for the last ten years.

She took us to the beach. It was still early by the time we got there – creeping on half past six – and the ride had been long and quiet, so when she finally manoeuvred the car into one of the hundreds of empty parking spots in the lot that led down to the shore, Zack and I were still grumbling and unappreciative of what she'd done. The sky was lightening, barely, and I frowned, folding my arms and leaning my head against the window. She bent down beside her and produced from the glove compartment two cartons of juice, and a packet of slightly crushed croissants. My brother and I quietly accepted them, chewing and sipping thoughtfully as she did, staring out at the increasing orange light spreading out from the back of the sea, and listening to the surge and retreat of the waves along the dark, almost black sand.

"There," she suddenly said, her finger pointing east. Our head snapped about, scanning the horizon, and suddenly I could see it, knew why she had brought us here – the sun was slowly, gradually rising, hovering and shimmering as faintly as a spectre, rays of light casting off and rippling outwards across the ocean and right towards us. It rose shakily, unsteadily, like a newborn animal learning how to walk for the first time, and suddenly, as it passed the final line of the horizon, it took true shape and became this bright, solid being that I had to squint my eyes to look at, with light so dazzling it almost hurt shining off the windows of the car and making the sand of the beach twinkle like tiny shards of fallen stars.

"Well that was corny," Zack snickered. My mother said nothing – didn't seem offended – and merely sat in her seat, watching the dawn unfold before her with something in her eyes that I could only describe as contentment.

As morning drew out, we went down onto the beach for a walk. Zack ran ahead, collecting shells, pieces of driftwood and crab carcasses and brought them back for us to see as I walked with my hand in my mother's, her gloved fingers squeezing mine tightly, as the sand shifted to accommodate each of our slow, pointed steps.

"Time to go home," she told us around ten o'clock.

"Do we have to?" Zack whined. She nodded, giving a soft, happy smile. She was pleased that we'd been enjoying ourselves.

"I promised Dad that we'd have lunch with him. We'll have to leave now to get back in time."

"Fine," my brother scowled, trudging heavily towards the car. I stayed close to her side, letting her lead me. I didn't want to leave, but at that point in my young, short life, if she told me she was going somewhere, I knew that I would be sure to follow her.

The ride home was filled with chatter from Zack and my mother as I stared, like before, out of the window, watching fields and roads and houses and towns flash past in a never-swirl of colour that made me feel nauseous but I couldn't draw my eyes away from. I was locked inside, fated to watch, helpless, as the world rotated around me in a blur of activity that I could never be privy to.

We pulled back into the drive to see my father standing in the doorway. His face, which was normally relaxed and easy, as smooth as new paper, was hard and tense, his eyes sad and his jaw set. We could all tell that something was different, something had happened to make my father – my laid-back, quick to laugh father – disappear and leave this unknown, this uptight and anxious being in his place. My mother was the first out of the car as Zack and I fumbled with our seatbelts.

"What's happened?"

I couldn't hear all of their conversation – the doors were shut and Zack and I were still inside the car – but I could see her face drop in shock, her eyes crinkled at the sides as my father took her hand and spoke softly to her, his fingers smoothing over the back and palm as he tried to explain. She shook her head, like a child, and suddenly lurched forward against his chest. His arms were quick to wrap themselves around her and I could see, even through the distance between us, that her fingers were digging themselves deep into his jumper as she shook gently in his arms.

They sat us down in the living room to explain what had happened. My mother sat on the windowsill, staring out across the drive and the village as though she were ignoring us. I wondered if she was in denial, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. My father crouched before me and Zack where we sat on the sofa, his face still grave and serious as he explained gently to us that Gatsby had somehow got outside, and had been hit by a car, and had died. Zack didn't cry but I did, sobbing noisily into my hands as my father's hands stroked my back, my hair, my arms, trying to soothe me. Zack stared straight ahead, looking like he felt numb inside.

"We'll get another cat," Dad told us gently. My mother adamantly shook her head.

"No," she said almost viciously. "No more pets. Ever."

We knew then that her word was final, that she meant everything she had just said, and Zack and I knew not to fight her – my father did, too, but he still weakly protested.

"Grace, you can't mean that-"

"-They'll just die," she said shortly. She resumed looking out the window, and I could see that she was doing the one thing that frightened me the most, more than any monsters and horror stories told to me by my brother in secret – she was crying silently, making no noise whatsoever as tears slipped seemingly uncontrollably from between her eyelids and down her cheeks.

"Everyone dies," my father said softly – a sentence far too serious and thought provoking to be said in front of even Zack's young mind, let alone mine.

She said nothing – couldn't say anything if she'd tried – and resolutely ignored us, shaking her head softly as she kept crying for the poor, innocent creature that had made one, simple mistake, and was gone.

It took until I was fifteen years old, and watched Kadaj Shinra kill himself by firing a bullet through his head right in front of me, to understand why she had reacted in that way.

As he fell forwards, onto his knees with blood streaming from everywhere – his eyes, his ears, his nose, his mouth; any crevice it could slide out of – all I could remember was the look on her face, the absolute sorrow as she determinedly tried to keep her face, wet with tears that seemed foreign against her skin, turned away from me. I wondered, as I felt my own tears still falling, if I had the same look of sadness on my face.

Zack gave a small gasp, of what could have been disbelief, and he staggered forwards towards Kadaj, who I could see had died before he'd even fallen, and with shaking hands tried to shake him into awakening.

"Kadaj ... please ... I'm sorry ..."

"Zack ..." The stretched, ragged voice sifted across the air and it took me, and I think Zack, by surprise. I'd been so caught up in my memories, watching Kadaj fall and reliving a memory that was nine years old, that I'd forgotten about Cloud.

"Cloud!" Zack got there first, crouching down beside his friend – my heart jumped painfully as I saw Kadaj, his other friend, motionless on the floor as blood spread out beneath his turned down face – and gently coaxing him to pull up his wet, blood stained shirt.

"I – I think I'm okay." I moved seamlessly yet with a slowness that made me feel tired. All I could see now, in my line of vision, was Cloud's pained face, and his eyes sought mine almost desperately. I reached him, crouching down before him, keeping my eyes trained on his as I tried to prevent myself from looking down, to where my brother was gently examining the wet, scarlet indent that lay just off to the left side of his stomach. I leaned forward, cupping the back of his head, and I pulled it close, towards mine, so that our foreheads were pressed together.

"Please," I whispered, to no one in particular. I'd never believed in God, or one specific creator, and I wasn't about to start now, but I couldn't help but wonder if someone, somewhere, would hear and answer my plea.

"Tifa, I think I'm okay."

"Huh?"

"He's lucky," Zack murmured, a hand settling on Cloud's shoulder as he dropped back down the hem of his shirt, covering the mess that I hadn't been able to look at but had still been able to see in the corner of my eye. "But we should get out of here quick. What we need to do is get him some help."

He made to help Cloud stand up but he shook his head swiftly.

"Please, just a minute. I need to catch my breath," he said. Zack nodded, still down low beside him. He kept his back to Kadaj.

I rose up, and I could feel every muscle in my legs working as I did so, stretching and tightening with each movement as I forced myself upright. The rain was still falling but it wasn't like before – it wasn't hard, like bullets, like it always was here in Gongaga. This rain was different, because it was soft. It fell almost with a tenderness, dropping down onto my skin with a gentleness that surprised me but at the same time just felt normal, felt natural, felt _right_. Each drop of pearlescent, beaded rain connected with my skin like a kiss, and I looked upwards, into the dark sky that still shook with rumbles of thunder, feeling the rain pool on my lips and I tried hard to give it back, give back to it what it had given to me. I didn't believe in a creator but for some reason, that evening as I stood there trying to kiss the rain back with a gratefulness I've never truly been able to find again since, I felt as though the rain had done this – the rain had saved him.

The shots – two of them – cracked through the dark air and connected with the skin of my left shoulder with a sharpness that made dark spots fill my vision.

I didn't even know that I had cried out until the noise stopped pouring from my throat, and suddenly all I was aware of was the fact that I had slumped down, onto one knee, the other leg still positioned with the foot planted firmly on the ground but could slip at any moment, and I was holding myself close, breathing heavily, trying not to pass out from the pain that was spreading through my shoulder and making every gasp feel like my lungs were slowly, carefully, being compressed.

"Tifa!"

I glanced up, and saw Cloud still on his knees ahead of me with a look on his face that I could only describe as being appalled. Zack was getting up from beside Cloud and moving forward, towards me, when suddenly two more shots echoed, and Zack clutched at the side of his face. As he fell to his knees in front of me, his hands leaving his face to hold mine, I saw that the two bullets had grazed his cheek in such a way that the two shallow cuts intercepted each other in the shape of a cross.

"Tifa! Come on, talk to me!"

"Shoulder," I said hoarsely, and he reached a hand around to gently touch it. When he brought it back, to look closely at it through the dark, I saw that there was a thick coating of blood across his fingers.

Another shot was fired, and we each instinctively ducked as a bullet whizzed over our heads, and I chanced a glance around, behind me, and found that Loz and Yazoo were standing at the top of the path, looking wet and exhausted but their faces set with determination as they held their guns tight and outwards.

"Cloud, no!"

I looked back around, to see why Zack had yelled, and saw that Cloud had stood up, shakily, and was picking up the gun that lay beside Kadaj's unmoving form.

"No!" I cried roughly. He didn't even turn to look at me – he just suddenly ran forward with a strength and resolve that he must have dredged up from deep within him, yelling wildly as he approached Loz and Yazoo and fired endlessly. As yells and shots echoed all around me, all I knew was that finally the pain in my shoulder was creeping over every inch of my body, my vision was going hazy as Zack pressed me tight against his chest, and I was falling against him as limp as a ragdoll as finally, in the dark of night and the falling rain as a silence finally stretched out, I succumbed to the pain, and everything, mercifully, went black.

* * *

I had a few, very brief, moments of lucidity after that. I could hear deep, heavy breathing in my ear, then a distinct pressure against my stomach but a strange weightlessness beneath my arms and legs. I slipped back into darkness for a while, then, and only found myself aware what felt like a long time afterwards. My eyes shot open but I had to swiftly close them again as a bright white flooded my vision and made me moan and my head fall back. Then I heard voices, speaking words that meant nothing to me, and I was suddenly scared because I didn't know if they should actually mean something – but slowly things were becoming coherent and I could hear a man's voice and my hand was being held strangely.

"Okay, she's ready,"

"Thanks," a distinctly female voice said, and suddenly there was a sharp, jabbing pain in the back of my hand, and then abruptly rings of dark were closing around me, and I suddenly felt myself slipping down and under once more, and then I didn't know anything.

* * *

Zack was right. This is hard. I knew that as I started writing it out.

But I have to do it – have to complete it. I've got this far.

He's here.

* * *

"Tifa? Can you hear me?"

I softly moaned a response, my tongue feeling too thick to form words, as sounds began streaming in through my ears like sunlight through open curtains. My head felt strange – very thick, and heavy. I slowly opened my eyes, but this time I didn't need to shut them immediately. The light that flooded down was still a bright white colour, but it wasn't as harsh and I could rapidly feel myself growing adjusted to it. I couldn't concentrate, couldn't gather my thoughts together well enough to remember what was going on, where I was and why, what had happened ...

"Where am I?"

"You're in recovery in the St. Ifalna Hospital in Junon, Tifa." I didn't recognise the voice speaking, didn't know who this woman was.

"Why am I here? What happened?"

"You were in the woods with your brother when a hunter mistook you for a deer. He accidently shot you in the shoulder. We had to operate on you to get the bullets out. You should be fine, don't worry."

I groaned as a wave of nausea swept over me, shutting my eyes again and taking deep breaths as I tried to quell it, begging with my body not to throw up all over myself.

"How do you feel?" I opened my eyes again, and the woman who had been speaking – a nurse with a kind, friendly face – was hovering over me, sweeping hair out of my eyes.

"I think I'm going to be sick," I told her weakly. She reached out and suddenly deposited a cardboard bowl in my lap.

"That's perfectly normal. We had to put you under a general anaesthetic to operate, and that normally leaves you feeling nauseous. You can use this bowl. Your father's here, by the way."

"Daddy?"

My own words surprised me, alongside the weak, trembling voice that had spoken them. I hadn't referred to my father in that way in over ten years. But, if it bothered or surprised him, he didn't betray it. He just reached out and held onto my hand, squeezing it tightly to reassure me, to remind me that he was beside me.

"I'm here, sweetheart," he said softly. "And so is Zack."

I fell back weakly against the pillow beneath my head as the nurse gently removed the oxygen mask that I hadn't even noticed had been covering my face. Things were piecing themselves back together in my memory, now, but slowly and only one at a time. I took a deep breath, finally thinking that I had overcome the queasiness, when Zack suddenly bounded forwards into my vision.

"Hey, Tifa, look!" He waved a long, transparent plastic tube in my face. His smile – a wide, infectious treat that I felt had been absent all summer – was splayed across his face and it made the corners of my own mouth twitch in response. "Tifa, this was down your _throat_!"

As I caught sight of the blood staining the tube he was thrusting into my vision, I suddenly lost the battle against the after effects of the anaesthetic and I found myself lurching forwards as I vomited into the bowl in my lap. The only thought that crossed my mind, as I coughed and spluttered and felt my father's hand on my back and heard the nurse's chuckle as Zack apologised continuously, was that strangely, here in the recovery room of a hospital as I hunched over a cardboard bowl, we were finally a family again.

* * *

After I had been taken up to a thankfully private ward, I was allowed to sleep again and I slid back into it with what felt like a practised ease. My sleep was drifting but undisturbed, and it wasn't until a good three hours later that cool hands were at my wrist, testing my pulse, and a soft voice – different from the one before – was asking me to wake up. I opened my eyes smoothly, looking up into the face of a young, pretty girl with a big auburn ponytail, who could only have been around Zack's age.

"Hi Tifa," she said softly. She wrapped something around my arm, and then I felt a strange pressure on the end of one of my fingers. "I just need to check your blood pressure. It'll only take a minute."

She helped me sit up and I leant back against a stack of pillows, wincing as my shoulder throbbed. She gave me a sad, sympathetic look.

"I'll bring you some painkillers in a moment," she said. The band she'd wrapped around my arm began inflating so that it was tight against my skin. I looked down, and saw that my left arm – the side I'd been hit – was trussed up in a sling. The nurse followed my gaze.

"You won't have to wear it for long," she said as the band slowly deflated. She checked a machine and scribbled down a number on a clipboard, which she hung on the end of my bed. "It's just to stop you using your arm for a few days."

My eyes slid down to look at the badge hanging from the breast pocket of her uniform. Beside a small security photo of her was a name printed in large letters: _JESSIE_.

She disappeared momentarily, and I noticed that Zack was in the chair beside my bed, his eyes closed. Two steri-strips were crossed over the cuts on his cheek. My father was nowhere to be seen.

"Here," Jessie came back into the room, carrying in one hand a syringe, and in the other a steaming Styrofoam cup of what smelled like tea. She put it down on the windowsill beside Zack. "He'll need that in a minute." She lifted up the corner of my t-shirt – I only noticed then that someone had changed me out of the standard hospital gown and into my own pyjamas – and she pressed the needle of the syringe into my stomach. I watched, transfixed, as she steadily pushed down the plunger. A small bead of blood remained when she withdrew the needle.

Jessie gave me a small smile, wiping away the blood and dropping back down the hem of my top.

"Your father's having some lunch in the cafeteria," she said. She dropped the now empty syringe into a bag, and wrapped it up into the front pocket of her uniform. She glanced at Zack. "I'll leave you two alone."

She shut the door behind her as quietly as possible but the sudden sound of it closing startled Zack awake. His eyes found mine and offered me a small, wan smile. He saw the cup of tea on the window sill beside him and gratefully sipped from it. We were silent, for some time, except for our regulated breathing and the sounds of him drinking from the cup. Then, finally, I broached a topic that had been confusing me since I had awoken in recovery.

"You lied to them," I said. "You lied about how I got hurt."

"Actually," he said, stretching his arms out above his head. I watched the muscles beneath his shirt flex and play. "Dad did. He came up with the story. I don't think they really bought it, though. Wrong kind of bullets."

"So ... he knows?"

"About what happened?" I nodded. "Yeah. I told him everything."

"Zack, how did I get here?"

He frowned, scratching absently at his chin. "Well. After you passed out, I had to help you and Cloud down the mountain-"

His words sparked my memory, and suddenly I could see Cloud hurtling towards Loz and Yazoo, his eyes wild as he yelled, gun outstretched in his hand.

"Cloud! Is he-"

"-He's alive," Zack said grimly. He looked like he was going to add something on, perhaps the word _just_, but he didn't, and just shook his head. "He's asleep at the moment. Yazoo and Loz, unfortunately, aren't."

I felt numb, not just with the shock of finding out that he was alive, that he was going to be okay, but also with the knowledge that suddenly, three people I'd known and lived in the same village with all of my life were dead. I stared right ahead, past Zack, trying to process the strange information that made me feel conflicted. I remembered what had happened with Kadaj, and I found myself fighting tears.

"Will ... will he get in trouble?"

Zack shook his head. "No, the police have already been and gone. They know it was self defence." His eyes grew very sad quite rapidly. "They know Kadaj killed himself, too."

"I'm sorry," I said. I tried to reach out a hand to pat his shoulder but it was awkward – he was on my left side and my right arm didn't stretch far enough. He shook his head again.

"Don't be," he murmured softly. He stared at the floor again for a while, and then seemed to remember that he had been in the middle of telling a story, and he broke the silence to resume it. "So, I had to get you both down. I ended up carrying you over my shoulder, and then I kind of supported Cloud as we walked down." He looked up at me, and I could see tears shining his eyes. "He kept trying to carry you, Tifa. He kept asking me, even though he could barely walk himself ... kept saying _give her to me. I'll carry her. Let me carry her_." Suddenly his voice cracked and tears slipped down over his cheeks.

"Come on, son, be a man."

Zack spluttered with a tearful chuckle as my father crossed the room, placing a comforting hand on my brother's shoulder. Zack dredged up a small smile.

"Hi sweetheart," my father said. He pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Hi Dad," I told him. I gave him a small smile.

He never said anything about it. He never questioned it, never said _I told you so_. He never, after that day, ever mentioned to me what had happened ever again. I don't think he had it in him to do so. All he could do was comfort me as I cried.

* * *

After they had both gone home for the evening, to their hotel room in the city, I cried on and off for the rest of the night. I slept fitfully, only waking when a nurse gently shook me to take my blood pressure, and then it would take a long time to get back to sleep. I sat up in bed for four hours straight, crying and stopping at certain intervals. At one point during the night as I was crying softly, the kind nurse from earlier – Jessie – very quietly came and sat beside me and gently held my hand.

The next morning I greeted with sore, tired eyes, which I bathed clumsily in the sink in my room with one hand. My father and brother came to see me around mid-morning, as the nurses cleared away my half eaten bowl of cereal, and for a while we didn't really speak. Instead, we sat and watched the television on the wall opposite my bed, watching a sitcom without really concentrating, our eyes unfocused and our minds elsewhere. Around lunch time, Zack disappeared, and my father and I played a game of cards with a pack he'd thoughtfully brought with him. I found it rather difficult, and in the end we resorted to playing a simple game of snap, as all I had to do was reach out the arm that wasn't in a sling to slam my hand down. The concentration that was required to watch each card as it was placed face up on the table was something I welcomed gratefully, and I won every single time.

Around mid afternoon, Zack reappeared at the door, his face neutral and unreadable. His hair was standing on end, as it always was after he'd been running his hands through it with anxiety. My father tidied away the cards and I look expectantly at my brother.

"I just thought you'd like to know ... Cloud's awake."

* * *

I walked the hospital corridor as quietly as I could, wrapping my cardigan tightly around my pyjamas as I glanced up at room and ward numbers beside me. I reached up, pulling my hair into a simple but most likely messy high ponytail, up and away from my face, and rubbed at my eyes, which were still sore and bleary from crying. Zack had wanted to come with me, to help me, but I had told him that this was something I wanted to do by myself. He saw the worry in my eyes, knowing that Cloud was hurt somewhere not far from me, and he gave in, and just gave me directions to Cloud's room.

I found the room, and saw that the door was closed. I very tentatively knocked on it, and a voice I knew wasn't Cloud's responded.

"Come in!"

I gently pushed the door open, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the prone figure in the bed. Cloud was leant back against pillows, his eyes shut and his fringe brushing down by his cheeks. His arms were flat out in front of him, resting limply on top of the bed covers either side of his body. There were some steri-strips like Zack's on his cheek, covering a nasty looking cut, and I could see that the bicep of his right arm was wrapped in a bandage. He was breathing deeply, evenly. He was asleep.

"Ah ... Tifa."

I glanced around, away from Cloud, and saw Mr Strife sat in the chair beside the bed. I closed the door as quietly as I could and padded softly across the room, to sit on Cloud's other side. I felt my face grow hot and I looked down at the bed, and Cloud's hand, as I felt his father's gaze on me. I was surprised, which seemed odd, but truth be told I had almost forgotten about his father, about Mr Strife. I don't think I had expected him to be alone in this room but it hadn't really crossed my mind that his father might be here.

Mr Strife reached out a hand and leant forward, gently brushing his son's bloodstained fringe out of his face.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. My hands were clasped tightly in my lap. "Zack said he was awake."

"He was," he said kindly. I glanced up and he gave me a small smile that reminded me so much of Cloud that I felt myself blush again and I had to look back down. "But he's very tired. He needed a bit more sleep."

"Is he ... okay?" I asked tentatively.

Mr Strife nodded. "He'll be alright. He's very lucky."

A silence fell between us, which I used to study Cloud's sleeping, relaxed face. I noticed with some shock that he had a small smattering of freckles brushed across the bridge of his nose. I guess I was surprised because it was something I'd never noticed before. They were sweet.

"This is my fault," I started, but his father shook his head and held up a hand, effectively silencing me.

"No, Tifa," he said softly. He looked at his son, hurt and unconscious in a hospital bed with bullet holes in his arm and stomach, and somehow managed a smile. "This isn't anyone's fault."

"I-I'm sorry," I whispered, but he shook his head again.

"Don't be." He looked round at me, looked right into my eyes with his own that were so like Cloud's, and I felt myself fall quiet again. "You've got to promise me that you won't let guilt eat you up over this, Tifa. This was not your fault." He looked back towards his son with a sigh.

"Okay," I murmured softly. He nodded.

"He's so much like his mother," he said suddenly. I felt myself smile slightly.

"Really? I always thought that he was just like you."

"Really?" Mr Strife gave me a friendly grin. "I guess it's the hair ..."

"And the eyes," I added. He laughed softly.

"I guess so. Well, he's a lot like his mother, too."

"How so?" I found myself asking. I was curious, I realised. I liked learning about Cloud. I loved him, but I didn't really know anything about him, except that, strangely, he seemed to feel the same way about me.

"Well, he's just as stubborn as her," Mr Strife murmured. "And just as quiet."

"I bet she'll be pleased for him to go back to Nibelheim," I said conversationally, without really meaning what I was saying. I was only saying it to cover my sadness at the realisation that he would in fact be going home soon.

"She's dead, Tifa," he said softly. I blinked in surprise.

"Oh," I said dumbly. I didn't say anything more – was too wrapped up in the revelation to be able to ask anything else about the matter, because his mother was dead and I hadn't even known – but Mr Strife must have realised my shock, because he tilted his head, and told me more.

"She died last summer. She had breast cancer."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. He shook his head.

"Please, don't be. We were never truly together. And don't be sorry for him," he said, nodding in Cloud's direction. "He won't appreciate it. He'd rather just move on."

It was then, sitting in the hospital room in Junon beside Mr Strife and watching his sleeping son, that I learned something very important about my heart: a river runs through it. A river that snaked and wound about each and every obstacle I came upon, but still continued to flow. At the bottom of the river resided my mother; finally laid to rest. At different sections of the river, as in different times in my life, tributaries broke off for each person who entered my life and settled down in the river that ran through my heart. The strongest, most prominent streams that flowed separately belonged to my father and to Zack, and there was one steadily growing for Cloud, too. Yuffie's still remained fairly strong, and there was even one developing for Aerith. One day, I wondered if maybe Mr Strife would take his place along the river of my heart.

I nodded weakly. He reached out a hand and gently ruffled his son's hair, and then he stood up.

"I'll give you some time alone with him," he murmured.

"Thank you," I said. He nodded, gave me a small smile, and then he left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

* * *

After laying my head down on the bed beside his hand, holding it tight between mine, I fell into a shallow sleep, dreaming of his kiss and of rain, which I quickly awoke from when his hand abruptly grabbed hold of mine. I sat up quickly, unsure of how long I'd been asleep, and saw that his eyes were open.

"T-Tifa?"

It was said in a voice I didn't recognise – the voice of a child, with an accent I'd not heard before, but he looked so frightened that I paid no heed to it and leant forwards, gently easing my free hand away from his so that I could push his fringe back from his face like his father had done.

"I'm here," I told him softly. His eyes closed again, and then opened, and he gave me a small, rare smile. When he spoke, his voice was how I remembered it – mature, soft, and free of any accent.

"We both are, hmm?"

"Yep," I said shakily, my hand still in his hair. I moved it down t stroke the side of his face. I carefully leant down and kissed him. "We're both here."

* * *

**Chibi: Ah. There. Only two chapters left. Hopefully now no one will be out to kill me! I didn't kill him off! I was going to, but like a year ago I changed my mind. I had to make lots of decisions about who was going to die. It was originally going to be Aerith but jeez, I love Zack too much to do that to him. You here me, Square Enix? Haha. Anyway, like always, please review, and thank you for reading! We're almost at the end!**

**Just a small note - when I finish this story (which will be soon) I plan to do a collection of one-shots relating to this fic. I got the inspiration from Square Enix's _On the Way to a Smile_ (read. just. read.) and each one-shot will be from a third person perspective, and look at how the life of a character in the story has played out following this fic's end. They will span out in order over the year that has passed before Tifa decides to write down the story. They will go in this order: Zack, Yuffie, Aerith and Cloud. The collection will unofficially be under the title _Rivers of the Heart _- can you guess why? Haha. I will, however, upload them as separate one-shots, so please keep an eye out for them! **

**Anyway, long author's note! Sorry! Thank you very much for reading and please review!**


	12. Twelve

**Chibi: Hi there everybody, sorry for the delay, had some essential essays to complete! This is the penultimate chapter, and I'm very pleased because I've managed to include everything I wanted to up until the last chapter. I feel very sad that this is ending but I'm really happy, and I'm really proud. This will be the first multi chapter fic I've ever completed, and it's been buzzing around in my head for years. I hope you enjoy this next-to-last chapter! By the way, I imagine Cloud's Nibelheim accent as sounding South African ... I've heard some writers consider it as sounding German, and I sort of agree, so I chose South African because that has elements of German in it. I like fics that have Cloud speaking with a Nibelheim accent!**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and please review!**

* * *

**Twelve**

I slept deeply that night – more deeply than I had in a long time, and I was undisturbed until morning. Despite the fact that I had slept for almost ten hours, though, I awoke feeling exhausted and sore, and it wasn't just my shoulder that hurt, but it was my entire body that ached and throbbed and begged for more sleep. But I wasn't allowed to go back to sleep, because a nurse was taking off the dressing on my shoulder to look at the stitched up bullet holes, and as she re-dressed the wounds and gently eased my arm back into its sling, she told me that a physiotherapist was coming up a little later to help me with some arm movement, and then I'd be free to leave with my family. I ate breakfast with my father watching me, his gaze soft and as always lacking judgement, and chatted idly until Zack came back into the room, having been visiting Cloud, and we watched some daytime television together until the physiotherapist arrived.

He arrived around midday, whilst we were engrossed in a repeat of a game show. We hadn't even noticed anyone arrive; it wasn't until there was a knock at the door that each of our heads snapped over to face the doorway, and we were met with the sight of a tightly muscled man who almost looked like he couldn't fit into the standard polo shirt and shorts I recognised as being a physiotherapist's uniform. He gave a curt nod, and came further into the room, extending a hand for my father to shake.

"Hi there," he said, shaking Zack's hand too, and then finally mine. "I'm Angeal Hewley. I've come to help you with some arm movement before you go home today."

As he helped me with some stretches, and generally ease out the stiffness that had settled in over the last day or so, something rather strange happened, something I'd never have really expected, but as it happened, it didn't really surprise me. Zack became completely entranced with what Angeal was doing. It began by him leaning forward in his seat at the end of the bed, his head cocked to the side almost like a dog, and his brow furrowed in concentration, and then he actually got up and pulled his chair over so that he was sitting right in front of Angeal, watching with such deep and sudden interest that I saw my father give a small smile, as though Zack was a curious child. Angeal noticed his interest and, like a teacher in a primary school who has seen a child's curiosity in a subject and wants to help expand on it, began subtly involving Zack in the exercises, pointing out the movements of certain muscle groups, answering his questions with a small smile, and even encouraging him to help me, his hands on my brother's as they gently guided my arm to move in circles that flexed the muscles of my shoulder. As I let them move my arm about, I thought about the fact that Angeal's surname was Hewley. I was instantly reminded of the t-shirt I'd been wearing, the day I played my mother's piano for the first time in five years, and the advert I'd found in the back of the university prospectus in Zack's room.

As he was finishing up the session, Angeal looked at Zack with a sudden interest that wasn't unlike the way my brother had been watching him before. He helped me put my arm back in the sling, and then clapped a hand on Zack's shoulder.

"You ever considered physiotherapy?"

Zack shrugged, but his face was taut with thoughts. "I don't know. I guess not before, but ... I wouldn't rule it out, now."

Angeal nodded, and began heading out the door. "You should look into it," he told my brother. "You'd be just right." And with that, he bade us goodbye, and left.

For around ten minutes, we sat watching the television again, until my father gently touched my arm.

"We'll be leaving soon," he told me. "Do you want to go see Cloud?"

I nodded, and he helped me out of bed. Zack began fussing over me, finding my cardigan and helping me drape it over my shoulders like the previous day. I managed to pull my hair into a somewhat sloppy high ponytail with my one, free hand, and then I left them in my room, my father watching Zack with soft amusement, as my brother screwed up his forehead in contemplation, his eyes on the television screen but not really taking anything in.

I met Mr. Strife as he was leaving Cloud's room. Words weren't really needed between us, at that moment, but they still stumbled out of my mouth to fill what to me felt like a rather awkward silence, but I guessed to him felt perfectly normal. He'd always struck me as someone who had learned from his experiences in his life.

"Is ... is it okay to see him?"

He smiled, and gestured towards the door. "Go ahead, Tifa," he said softly. I nodded, a smile feeling unnecessary then, and I quietly pushed open the door as he carried on walking down the corridor.

Cloud's head perked up as I opened the door. I closed it behind me, giving him the small smile I hadn't managed to give his father, and I was pleased to see that his face had a bit more colour, and the skin beneath his eyes was a little less bruised from exhaustion than it had been the previous day. I quietly crossed the room and sat down in the seat beside his bed, and my free hand found his, lying on top of the blanket. He squeezed mine gently.

"We're leaving soon," I told him gently, staring at our clasped hands. His fingers had already began to softly trace the length of mine, held tightly between his own and his palm. He gave a nod that I felt rather than saw. He absently began twisting the tag on my wrist around, pulling it up to face him so that he could look closely at it. He gave a small, rare smile.

"I didn't know you had a double barrel surname," he said with soft amusement. I glanced down at the tag, and saw they'd put my full name on it, a name that I'd always felt was too long, but now felt was too much a part of me, and a link to _her_, to dispute: Tifa Grace Lockhart-Fair.

"I don't really use it," I told him vaguely, my eyes still fixed on the tag. "It's more of an official thing. Zack doesn't have it, though."

"What's his full name, then?" Cloud asked.

"Zachary Florizel Fair," I said. Cloud's eyes widened and I felt a soft laugh bubble in my throat. "Yeah," I began to explain, my smile stretching. "Our mother had a bit of a thing for _The Winter's Tale_ when she had him. When we were younger I used to call him 'Flo' to annoy him."

"So why do you have the double barrel surname, then?"

"It's my mother's maiden name," I said. To my surprise, and I think Cloud's too, my eyes began watering, all the amusement from just moments ago dissipating swifter than snow in the desert. "My father changed my surname from just 'Fair' to this one after she died."

"And ... Grace?" Cloud asked softly. He gently hooked a tear off my cheek with a finger.

"Her name," I whispered, and with that I leant forward and he coaxed my head down onto his lap, his fingers soft in my hair as I felt, not for the first time since he'd woken up, since we'd first kissed, since the first time I'd ever met him, that early morning at the start of August in my kitchen, soft, shaking sobs tugging at my entire being that I managed to keep quiet, the only hints giving me away the trembling of my body and the little gasps of breath I took every few moments. He didn't say anything – couldn't or wouldn't, I don't know, and don't suppose I ever will – and just held onto me as I let myself, finally, cry over her.

* * *

The journey home was fairly silent, with the whir of the car's engine being the only sound that echoed in my head as I stared out of the window, the unfamiliar flashing past until it became familiar, and I began to recognise landmarks and landscapes as we drew closer to Gongaga. When we were about half an hour away from the village, my father finally spoke, and his sentence appeared at first to be merely a contemplation spoken aloud, but as I caught his eye in the rear-view mirror, shifting between focussing on me and Zack, in the front seat, I knew that there was more to what he was saying, and that he was saying it to gently push us, to encourage us to make our decision and to start choosing for ourselves, to make ourselves happy.

"The book goes on sale tomorrow," he said softly. My thoughts instantly trailed to the money he'd put aside for each of us, the money that was more than I had ever owned and hadn't know what to do with. No more was said, after that, until we pulled up outside the house a little later, and we spent the rest of the journey home each contemplating our decisions – even my father. I knew what he had said was hard for him to do, what he was trying to do was even harder – to encourage each of us to go our own way.

When we pulled up at the house, Yuffie was sat on the door step, wrapped up in my cardigan and her feet firmly planted on the dirt of the drive in a pair of battered black combat boots. As my father turned off the engine, and Zack leaned around in his seat to help me out of my seatbelt, she stood up, and I saw that she was wearing an old pair of denim shorts and a black Jack Daniels vest top. Even with her hair parted messily to the side, and her face pale and drawn without makeup, she still managed to look as beautiful as ever.

My father and Zack very tactfully let themselves into the house, and left the two of us outside together to talk. There was a strange, stilted silence between us for a few moments that neither of us was particularly used to – we'd been best friends for so long, that silence and awkwardness wasn't something we knew very well. But now, having been so distant from her for the last month or so, I almost felt the need to make small talk. I was groping around for a subject to talk about, but then she looked right up at me with tears in her eyes and I did the only thing that I knew would help: I moved towards her and bundled her close to me with my one, good arm, and let her cry softly on my shoulder, just the way I had done on Cloud's lap earlier that day.

"I'm sorry," she kept saying, shaking and clinging into me with her sharp little fingers that dug into my shoulders almost painfully. In fact, it _was_ painful – she was pressing right on my bad shoulder – but I didn't say anything. I felt that she just needed to have a good, uninterrupted cry, and frankly I felt like she deserved it. When I look back on it now, I know that at the time I was thinking that the same thing had happened to her as had happened to Kadaj, and soon it would happen to me, and maybe Zack, too. Like I said before,_ Hell is others_. At some point, the isolation of the village would get to all of us. I think that it was around then that I made my decision – as I held Yuffie as she cried and I tried to stop wincing in pain as her fingers dug into my shoulder; my decision to help myself.

"I'm here," I whispered. She brought her wet, shaking face up to look into mine. Her eyes shone. "I told you, didn't I? I promised I'd see you back here. Well, I'm here. It's alright."

She nodded, but kept crying, and we stood out there until it grew dark, and some point along the way, I began crying too, my tears dripping down into her hair, as I saw my father watching us out of the living room window.

* * *

Two days was all it took. Two days of sitting where my mother had always sat, on the windowsill in the living room, watching rain fall and birds fly and people just _live_, waiting for my own life. Two days, before I went back into Zack's bedroom with the cordless phone whilst he was out running, like he'd done each morning since we'd got back from the hospital to release pent up energy and anger and sorrow, and dug out the prospectus for Midgar University that I'd found a few weeks before, and flicked to the back. I sat cross-legged on my brother's bed and dialled the number before me, and when the other end was answered, I calmly told them what I wanted, what I needed, who I was, and it took little convincing. _I remember your mother_, the lady said. _And I've read your father's books. We don't normally take on students this close to the start of term, but you're more than welcome here. We'll see you in three days_.

Three days was all that remained before I left.

* * *

A day later, a day of not telling anybody what I'd done and spending all of my time on the living room window sill, I gathered my father and brother around the kitchen table and told them my decision. Zack was shocked, and I almost expected him to be angry with me – to shout, to even cry, maybe – but he just nodded, his eyes wide with surprise. My father seemed indifferent, understanding, and only asked when I would be leaving. After I told them – "In two days," – there was a stunned silence held by us all around the table, before my father nodded at Zack, who told me what my father clearly already knew: my brother's own decision – what he planned to do with his share of the money my father had put aside for each of us.

"I've managed to get onto a course for a degree in physiotherapy," Zack said, and he nearly smiled. It was harder for him to smile, these days. It was all very well that things were coming together for me, but I knew that for him they felt like they were falling apart, and I knew that Aerith leaving was the reason for it. This was just something he felt he had to do, and not only that, but it was something he _wanted_ to do. When I looked at my father, who was sat leant back in his chair sipping from his tumbler of whiskey – his first of the night, and I knew it would be the last; in the days since Kadaj had died he'd been drinking a lot less – with a look that could almost have been happiness, but was actually understanding and contentment, and I remembered the anger that he'd shown the day Zack had come home at the start of August, to tell us that he'd dropped out of university. I knew then, looking right at him, that he was learning. But, still, I worried. I leaned forward and rested my chin in my good hand (my left arm was still in a sling) and supported myself by my elbow on the table, and I cocked my head, feeling my eyebrows knit together.

"Will you be okay?" I asked him. He shrugged.

"Things will be different," he said simply, and I knew that he meant yes, he'd be okay. We needed this. I looked to Zack.

"Where are you doing the degree?" I remembered how I'd wondered if he'd missed the stars when he was in Midgar, and I didn't want him to be unhappy going back there again. I knew he'd want to be close to home. He gave another of those soft, almost smiles, his eyes relaxing in the corners.

"Junon University," he told me. "A little closer to home than before. I'm coming home each weekend. I like the countryside too much to leave it for good, but I've got to get on the right track to getting myself a job. I'm getting a little flat, too. I might have to get a roommate-"

"-Just give it time," My father suddenly cut in with. We glanced towards him, and he looked down into his glass of whiskey. "Just wait. Give it a month or so, and then see." Zack shrugged and looked down at his own glass, which I'd only just noticed he had been sipping from, but I looked hard at my father, who deliberately avoided my eye. I wondered if he knew something that we didn't.

There was more silence, and whilst we sat holding it, my father quietly got up, fetched an extra tumbler from the cupboard, and poured me a glass of whiskey of my own. I nodded my thanks, and sipped from it lightly, staring down at the table cloth. Zack sighed.

"You don't have to do this, you know. I'm sure it'll be fine if you stay." I looked up at him, but he wasn't looking at me – he was looking down at the table cloth like I had been.

"I know," I said, putting my glass down. "But it's just something I need to do for me. I think sometimes you have to be selfish."

"Yes," my father agreed. He finished his glass, and got up to put it in the sink. He tidied the whiskey bottle, still two-thirds full, away into the cupboard. "You have to be selfish in life, sometimes."

Zack nodded in accord, and no more was said.

* * *

The day before I was due to leave, I told Yuffie, who surprisingly didn't cry, but sat beside me on her bed and gently laid her head down on my shoulder for a good hour, and didn't say a word. I reached up a little awkwardly, stroking her hair gently and breathing in her smell to try and commit it to memory. I was leaving tomorrow, and most likely wouldn't return until Christmas. I didn't have to wear my sling now, so I was able to wrap an arm around her to try and give her comfort.

"Here," she said as I was leaving, around an hour later. She pushed my cardigan, the one she'd been wearing most of the summer, into my hands. "I only realised the other day that this is yours. Sorry I've had it for so long."

"Thanks," I said. I gave her a smile, which she returned, and then suddenly she leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

"I'll always be your best friend, right? No other girl is gonna take my place?"

"Of course," I laughed softly. She beamed.

"Right, because if they do, I'm gonna kick their ass into next year."

I wrapped my arms around her and laid my cheek down on the top of her head. It only occurred to me then that I was actually tall enough to do it now. She mumbled something, and I almost missed it, but then I worked out what she'd said and smiled into her hair, pleased that she was starting to sound like herself again.

"You better not forget about me, girl."

I held her tightly, again fighting tears, like I always seemed to be these days.

"Couldn't if I tried."

* * *

When I got home I began two things: clearing out, and packing. I put on some music, and began methodically sorting through all the clothes in my wardrobe and chest of drawers. Half went into big bags, half went into a suitcase. Everything that I had bought and regretted – every scrap of flimsy, lacy material that was far too short and nearly see-through – went into bin bags, and by the end of the clearing out session, I had gotten rid of three whole bags full. I considered putting them aside to send to a charity shop, but truthfully I just wanted to be rid of them, and so I took them downstairs to put in the bins outside the house. As I opened the front door, the bags clasped in my hands and my fringe falling annoyingly into my eyes, I looked up to find Cloud walking up the drive.

I nearly dropped the bags in my hands with a suddenness that would have been painfully obvious, but I managed to calmly put them down on the ground and carefully brush my fringe out of my face. I was horribly aware of the fact that the clear out had made me quite sweaty, and I surreptitiously tried to wipe my forehead dry, thankful that I was wearing a loose vest top that had kept my upper body at least a little cool.

"Hi," I called, squinting in the afternoon sun. He stopped about ten yards before me.

"Hey," he said. He was wearing a loose check shirt, and as it flapped in the breeze it lifted up slightly, and I could see that his stomach was still tightly wrapped with bandages. "Having a clear out?" He asked, gesturing towards the bags on the ground at my feet. I nodded.

"Just getting rid of some things I don't need." He nodded, like I had done, and I knew in the way he did it, the way his eyes softened slightly, that he knew exactly what I meant. "So ... how are you?"

"I'll be okay," he murmured. "They let me out yesterday. Just have to be careful."

"I'm glad," I told him. He came closer to me, reaching out a hand and gently brushing my cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Can you do me a favour?"

With his touch on my face like that, I could do anything for him. I nodded.

"Sure. What is it?"

He held my gaze tightly, his eyes still soft with understanding and a tenderness that made me feel like I wasn't wholly there.

"Come round my house tonight, please? We should talk."

"Yes, sure. I'll be there." My heart had started pounding at his words with a sort of fear that I wasn't used to, but instantly recognised as a fear of rejection. My fears were swiftly put down to the ground, though, when he leaned forward suddenly and kissed me. Then, he gave me another of those small smiles that I knew were so incredibly rare from him, but were almost unbelievably uplifting and endearing when they were given, and then he turned around and headed back down the drive, heading, I assumed, for home.

Later that evening, after I'd had a final dinner with my father and brother, I changed into a pair of denim shorts, a pair of boots not unlike the pair Yuffie had been wearing the day we came home from the hospital, and a soft blouse and cardigan, and fiddled with my hair for a while before sighing and putting it in a ponytail. My uniform for the next day, which had arrived that morning in the post, was laid out on my bed, the blue plaid skirt, white shirt and grey cardigan ready for me to dress in and head on towards something new. I got my bicycle out of the garage, and began to cycle up the hill towards Cloud's house.

It was growing dark when I arrived there, which surprised me a little as we were still lingering in the remains of summer and it was only around eight o'clock, but the sky was already darkening and the only light guiding me towards the house was the one coming from the living room window. I was thankful that I'd brought my bike lights with me for the ride home, and also for the fact that they'd left the curtains open for me to see where I was going in the dim of evening.

I left my bike leaning the decking of the porch, and climbed the steps to the front door, knocking lightly on the wood.

"Come in!" A voice that I recognised as Mr. Strife's called, and I hesitantly pushed open the door. "We're in the living room." He then said, in a softer voice, "Carry on, Cloud."

I cautiously made my way down the hallway towards the living room, and as I reached the door and made to open it, I realised I could hear Cloud talking, but like the day he'd woken up in the hospital and spoken my name, it was in a strange, clipped accent I didn't recognise. I pushed the door open with some tentativeness, and found him sat on the sofa reading aloud from a book, one knee pulled up to his chest, and his father was sat on the coffee table before him.

"_Under tower and balcony, By garden wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot._"

His father motioned for me to sit down on the sofa beside Cloud, who turned and gave me a short nod as I did so, and he resumed reading aloud again. His accent entranced me. Apart from that one time in the hospital, when he'd briefly, almost like a young boy, said my name in that way, I'd never heard him speak in this way. His voice was always very soft and neutral, but the way he was speaking now was almost completely different. The vowels were flat, and some parts were heavily stressed – parts of words I'd never have considered to stress. It was like curt, clipped English with a foreign lilt. He waited until he'd finished the poem, his father nodding encouragement now and then, before closing the book.

"_But Lancelot mused a little space; He said, 'She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott._"

His father took the book back from him, and held it loosely in hands, turning to give me a smile.

"Hi there, Tifa. Sorry about that. How are you doing?" He nodded towards my now free and loose shoulder.

"Not too bad, thank you," I smiled. I pointed towards the book in his hands. "That poem was lovely, what was it?"

"Tennyson's _The Lady of Shalott_. You know it?"

I shook my head. "I've heard teachers talk about it at school, but I've never had the chance to read it. So, why was Cloud reading it to you?"

His father's eyes softened slightly, and he gave me another, easy grin that stretched lazily across his face.

"He used to stutter," he told me, and I saw that Cloud blushed immediately beside me.

"_Dad_," he hissed, but his father just chuckled.

"So, I used to get him to read aloud to me, to help him with it," Mr. Strife continued. "He got past it long ago, but I still like him to read to me now and then, just to keep him in practice. As you probably heard, his accent tends to come out when he's concentrating on not stuttering." Cloud shook his head in embarrassment in the corner of my eye.

"So ... was that the Nibelheim accent? I've not heard it before." They both nodded. Mr. Strife gave me another smile, and stood up, gently ruffling his son's hair.

"I'll leave you two alone," he said, and then he left the room, heading into the kitchen and closing the door. Cloud leaned back on the sofa, stretching his arms out in front of us. The silence that hung, for me at least, was awkward and tense. I waited a moment as he stretched, to see if he'd break it, but when he didn't, and instead scratched the back of his head, I decided to break it myself.

"So ... what did you want to talk about?"

His eyes flashed with what seemed like pain, and I wondered briefly if it was his stomach hurting him, but the way he looked down at his knees, almost refusing to meet my eyes, told me that it was actually what he had to say that was causing him pain, and I felt my heart sink. There were still steri-strips covering up the cut on his cheek, and a bandage was still wrapped around his right bicep, and I wanted so badly to run my fingers over them and try to soothe them, even though I was sure he was about to hurt me.

"I'm leaving," he said suddenly, and his hand shot out to hold onto mine. He grasped it tightly, knotting our fingers together, but he still wouldn't look at me, keeping his gaze on his knees. "I've been talking with my father ... did you know he runs a delivery service?" I shook my head. "Well, I'm going to take over it. He's ready to retire and I need a job, so we've agreed I'll run it from now on." He then looked up at me, with eyes that were crinkled in worry and shone with uncertainty. "Your brother's giving me his motorbike."

That surprised me. "Really? But he's barely had it."

"That's what I said," Cloud said softly. His gaze returned to his lap again, but he still held my hand tightly. "Tifa, I ... I still feel the same way about you. I ..." He looked up again, almost pleadingly, and I knew what he was trying to say, but couldn't say aloud. I knew what I wanted to say in return, too, but I couldn't either. It wasn't that it was too soon, or that we didn't really mean it, it was just hard. I squeezed his hand tightly, trying to tell him yes, I understood, I felt the same way too. "I'll see you soon," he finished, the sentence almost a whisper.

"Cloud," I murmured. He looked up, and reached out a hand like he had done earlier that day, stroking the side of my face. "Tomorrow ... I'm moving to Midgar. I'm starting at Hewley Academy for Girls ... my mother went there."

He didn't say anything – didn't need to – and simply smiled softly, before holding my chin in his hand and gently guided my face to his, kissing me lightly. I knew he was pleased with my decision, just in that small action.

* * *

As I was leaving, around an hour later, he walked me out to the front door, and pulled me close, holding me tightly against his chest. Like I had done with Yuffie earlier in the day, I breathed in his smell deeply, trying to remember it so that when I next saw him it wouldn't be new and unfamiliar. I wanted even something as small as his smell to always be constant and familiar to me.

"Be careful," he said as I pulled my bike upright, and his words instantly reminded me of my brother, and the way he'd said the same ones to me the day Kadaj had died, as I was leaving for Yuffie's house. When I looked at Cloud, looked properly and studied every inch of the hard expression on his face and the shine in his eyes, I knew, like before, that he was trying as hard as he could to convey how he felt, without being able to say it aloud. I smiled at him, and nodded, before beginning to walk my bike down towards the mountain path. I glanced back over my shoulder to reply, giving him the most truthful, most meaningful smile I could.

"Always," I told him, like I'd told Zack, and then I swung my leg over the bike and began cycling down onto the path, heading down towards the lights of the village. _I love you too_.

* * *

**Chibi: ahh. There you have it, the penultimate chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it! Can't believe it's nearly finished! **

**Thank you for reading, and please review!**

**Till next time!**


	13. Thirteen

**Chibi: Well, here is the final chapter. Thank you very much for reading this far! As always, a review would be appreciated.**

**I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

**Thirteen**

The panes of glass in the windows of the train flashed softly in my eyes as I leant back in my seat, crossing my legs as I slipped my book back into my bag. My hair was a sleek curtain that slid over my shoulder and, like always, I sighed, pulling it up high into a ponytail. The boy sat opposite me, a little further down the carriage, was reading the same book, and as I put mine away he gave me a nod of understanding, a nod that tried to hint at something I wasn't interested in, and I sighed again, trying to subtly shake my head. I laid my head against the window, uncaring of the thought of all the people who'd laid their greasy, unwashed heads there before me, and stared out at the landscape that flashed past me.

Today was the day, and I was travelling to Midgar by myself.

My trunk, full of clothes and books, had been sent on ahead to the school, and I was travelling by myself on the train, ready to stop off and change at Junon station. A couple of hours before, my father and brother had dropped me off at the tiny excuse for a train station that lay on the outskirts of Gongaga, and to my surprise, Zack had to try to hide tears that had pooled in his eyes. My father just held me close, and I knew he was doing exactly what I had done with Yuffie and Cloud the previous day – committing my smell to memory. I had just dug my fingers into the scratchy material of his jumper and tried to hold myself together, because this was _my_ choice – _I_ had decided to do this – and it would be wrong if I cried too. He dropped a kiss to my forehead, and then I found myself being dragged into Zack's trembling arms.

"You take care of yourself, Teef," he murmured. His breath ruffled the top of my hair. "I know Cloud will, at least."

"You take care of yourself," I mumbled into his shoulder.

He was still sad, I knew, and that hurt me as I boarded the train and waved to them from the window, because it didn't seem fair that things were working out for me and not for him. He wasn't due to start his degree until the beginning of October, so he still had something to look forward to, but I knew that there was still a gaping hole in his life that only _she_ could fill, and my leaving only served to make it grow.

I didn't cry as the train pulled away, but I didn't feel proud of that fact – it only reminded me of how, at fifteen, I felt like I had suddenly grown up far too quickly. I had spent the majority of the summer insisting I was an adult and could make my own decisions, but every decision I had made had been influenced by someone else. This, leaving to go to the school my own mother had attended, leaving Gongaga and living somewhere else for the first time in my not considerably long life, was the first decision I had made by myself, and it frightened me. I was as aware as I had been, the day Kadaj died, and Cloud kissed me before leaving me sat on the floor of my old nursery, that I was, undoubtedly, still fifteen, and still a child.

The train pulled up in Junon, and I gathered my satchel and my blazer up, and made my way off the train in the stream of people. I fought briefly against the crowd, trapped in a mass of bodies and colour and a blur of sound, clutching my bag close to me as I pushed my way forward to try and find a departures board. I managed to negotiate my way through an oncoming torrent of people walking in the opposite direction to me, and finally found myself standing in front of the enormous, glowing board showing each departure. I located my train and platform, checked the time, and began making my way to platform five. I had about an hour to spare before my train came in, but I figured I could sit somewhere on the platform till then, and either read or lose myself in my thoughts, as seemed to happen so often these days.

As I joined the masses walking along to the platform, a familiar figure appeared ahead of me, walking towards me and carefully pulling a suitcase behind her, the flashing pink of her dress catching my eye and the long, brown braid of hair hanging over her shoulder confirming my suspicions. Our faces remained neutral as we stopped a little before each other, and then she gave me one of those smiles that I hadn't realised until that point just how much I had missed.

"Hello, Tifa," she said simply, and suddenly a warmth erupted in me that I hadn't even been aware was missing. Somehow, she had returned it to me.

In the end, as she had about an hour too before her train to Gongaga, we went to a little café within the station to each have a cup of tea. Aerith insisted on buying them, so I sat at the table outside whilst she went inside and handled the order. When she came back balancing a tray, and carefully put our cups, saucers and the teapot down on the table before me, I wondered if I should tell her about what had happened after she had left, but she surprised me as she sat down by asking how my shoulder was.

It turned out that in the time that she had lived with us, she and my father had grown a lot closer than I'd realised, and after she'd left, he'd begun writing to her in Midgar, and had kept her up to date on everything that was happening. He'd even managed to let her know, in the space of the last few days, my decision, and Zack's too. In fact, she told me, as she sipped delicately from her tea cup and brushed her hair out of her face, fiddling with the ribbon that Zack had once told me he'd bought for her, she was coming back to start nursing training in Junon. As she told me this, I found, to my surprise, that I _wasn't_ surprised – nursing just seemed to be something she'd be good at. She was good at taking care of people. I remembered how, on the night of the fire, she'd run forward ahead of me to Zack and Cloud and checked their injuries, and I knew then that I had never truly resented her, but simply the idea of her. Truthfully, she was what I wanted to be, because she was faultlessly kind and sweet and my brother loved her. I realised, now, that the fact that he loved her was the only thing that actually mattered.

"So ... you're coming back?"

She nodded, still fiddling with the ribbon in her hair. "Your father had the idea that I should move in with Zack in the flat he's getting in Junon. I've managed to save up some money so we'll be able to split the rent between us." She gave a small, shy smile. "It'll be nice to live together."

I nodded, pouring some more tea into my cup. I sipped from it, watching her do the same with her own cup, and decided to push forward with the question that I'd been wanting to ask for over a week. Because, I realised, as we drank tea together in Junon train station, it had only been around a week since she'd left.

"Why did you leave?"

She stared down at the table, at her hands, at her tea cup, and then at my face, bravely holding my eyes.

"Kadaj told me to."

That surprised me, because I hadn't really considered that Kadaj had been telling the truth when he had said that he'd told her to leave – _because I told her to leave _were the words that echoed then in my head – and I wondered, quickly, if I should judge her, but the fact that she was here, coming back to my brother and not just to comfort him, but to be with him because she loved him, made me realise that it was the fact that she'd loved him that she'd left.

There was silence – always silence – between us, and it was a long one that neither of us could break, because we were too trapped in our thoughts to even consider doing so. I checked the time, and realised I only had about ten minutes to catch my train. I drained my cup of tea, and began to stand up.

"He loves you," Aerith said suddenly. I looked back down at her, in the middle of the action of pulling my bag onto my shoulder. She was staring down at the table again, this time unwilling to meet my eyes. These weren't her feelings she was confessing, and she didn't need to hold my gaze to do so. "Cloud. He's loved you since he met you. He was only ever spending time with Yuffie because she was a comfort ... she's kinder than most people think."

I nodded, because I understood – that was one of the reasons as to why we'd been friends for so long, despite the fact that people, my family included, couldn't understand why I was even her friend. There were a lot more good points than bad that were hidden beneath her hard exterior.

Finally she looked up at me, and the green in her eyes that reminded me so much of the forests that surrounded Gongaga sparkled.

"You'll see him again. He loves you too much for this to be the end."

I nodded again, and turned to go, but then turned back to give my reply.

"Thank you," I told her, and she smiled. She stood up, and gently pulled me close, a hand carefully holding the back of my head and the other placed softly on my back. Then, she pulled away, and gave me a last smile, before picking up her suitcase, and pulled it behind her as she walked away from me to her platform, towards the train, towards Gongaga, and towards Zack.

I folded my blazer over my arm, and began walking in the opposite direction to my platform, towards the train, towards Midgar, and towards a future.

As I found a seat, and settled myself down with my blazer folded across my lap and my bag at my feet, I laid my head down on the window as I had done on the previous train. No one sat opposite me, this time – in fact, it appeared as though the carriage was empty except for me. That suited me fine; I didn't need company.

The train pulled away from Junon station, and soon we were leaving behind the industrial grey and the colours of the landscape were melting into a mixture of greens and blues, until finally, the desert stretched out endlessly ahead of us, the only things constant in my vision being the incessant train tracks leading onwards and the horizon.

Even in the soft afternoon sun that lilted through the train carriage windows, the lights of Midgar were visible in the distance.

* * *

_The End._

* * *

**Chibi: Well, there's the end! I hope everybody enjoyed it. As always, I'd appreciate it if you'd review please. Don't forget, I will still be posting the series of one-shots set after the end of the fic, under the collection _Rivers of the Heart_, so keep an eye out for them!**

**Once again, thank you so much for reading.**

**Goodbye!**


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